Always and Forever
by purrina57
Summary: "I close my eyes, and I try to think but it's impossible with him around me, breathing life and wildness and fear and possibilities in me. 'Let me show you my world,' he says. 'And leave my own world behind, for yours' I ask, letting his golden eyes fill my vision. 'For our world,' he replies. And then I smile, because I believe him. I shouldn't have." Clary/Jace as immortals.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story! Yay! For the people that are concern, Half Truths will still be updated. I'm just going to attempt to update both consistently. **

**Anyway, for those of y'all who don't know, this story is about immortality. Not the vampire kind. Just straight immortality. It's more of a character study than a plot-driven story. If you like high action, this might not be the one for you. If you like slow-building things, a little bit of dark themes, such as possessiveness, the dullness of having eternal life on earth, and the affect abuse has on the psyche, then this might be the thing for you! (:**

**Jace will be fairly terrible in this story, just a warning. I really, really don't want people reading this if that bothers you. He won't beat Clary or anything like that, but he is definitely psychotic. Not for no reason, though. Anyway, I'm just warning you...**

**Enjoy please! And let know what you think! I don't bite and I respond to everyone's reviews! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**_**Year: 1924**_

_"Come away with me," he pleads, his eyes golden and luminescent and moving. His breath is warm against my lips, his hands hot against my cheeks._

_ "I…I'm scared," I whisper to him in the quiet darkness of my room._

_ "Of me?"_

_ "No." Yes._

_ "Then what?"_

_ Everything, I think, but don't speak. His closeness has robbed me of that ability._

_ "Come away with me, Clary," he tries again, moving so close that his lips brush mine a kiss with each word.  
_

_My head gets heavy. "I can't just leave."  
_

_"Why not? What's here for you but to be sold off like livestock to a drunken bastard? To have six children and live in a shack and work until your fingers are raw and bloodied—and for what?"_

_ He makes sense. He always makes sense._

_ I close my eyes, and I try to think but it's impossible with him around me, breathing life and wildness and fear and possibilities in me._

_ "Let me show you my world," he says._

_ "And leave my own world behind—for yours?" I ask him, opening my eyes again, letting his golden orbs become my whole vision._

_ "For _our _world," he says._

_ And then I smile—because I believe him._

_ I shouldn't have. I should never have_.

* * *

_**Year: 2013**_

"Come on, Clary, you have to come with us," Izzy exclaims, her jet-black ponytail swinging around the back of her head like a propeller.

"Okay," I agree, smiling.

"Yes! Fray is in!" she exclaims into her cell phone, to Simon on the other end of the line.

I hear his enthusiastic "YES" from my spot next to her on the common area's couch.

We both laugh.

"This is going to be fun," Tessa says as she pulls her knees to her chest. "It feels like I haven't been to a party since last year."

"That's because you haven't!" Izzy cries, clicking off the phone with Simon without so much as a goodbye. "You've been too busy going all over the world, healing little children in third world countries."

"Tessa's going to come up with the cure for cancer one day," I tell Izzy, nodding and smiling over at Tess. "There's nothing wrong with her wanting to get a head start on the process."

She smiles at me before sticking her tongue out at Izzy. "See! There. Clary's on my side."

"Guys, I'm not trying to be a bitch here," Izzy says, holding out her hands and looking between us gravely. "I'm just saying that we're juniors in college now. Two more years, and we're on to something else. We need to get max party time in now, while we still can before things get serious and life takes hold and sucks all the energy out of us and we're stuck behind a desk for years and years and taking care of all our snot-nosed kids."

"Izzy, I _told_ you not to take all those psych classes," I sigh. "They mess with your mind."

Tessa nods.

"Seriously, guys." Izzy claps a hand over my knee. "This is going to be the best year ever."

"You said that last year," Tessa reminds her.

"It was the best year ever last year—compared to all years before that. And this year, compared to that year, will be the best year ever. It's just going to get better—until the whole getting old thing happens, like I mentioned."

I fake a smile as Tess and Izzy laugh, and I'm consumed with that endless feeling inside me, that appears so often, eating away at me, dragging me down.

I'll never get old.

I'll just be this forever.

Endlessly.

Hopelessly.

* * *

_"Do you love me?" he asks._

_ "Yes," I whisper back._

_ "How much?"_

_ "A whole bunch."_

_ I hear the smile in his voice. "For how long?"_

_ "Always."_

_ "And?"_

_ "Always and forever," I vow._

* * *

"Hey, earth to Fray!"

I blink into the present, a little disoriented at the green, manicured lawns of the college before me.

For a second, I have that thought—_how did I get here_—and then I have a worse thought—_where is he_—before I remember.

I swallow and glance over at Simon, who is peering at me from behind his glasses in concern. "Sorry, I spaced out there."

"Yeah, you did. Clary, be honest with me." Simon inhales through his nose deeply, seriously, and rests both his hands on my shoulders. "Are you doing dope?"

I laugh.

"Because if you are," he begins. "We can get you help. That rehab Lindsay Lohan stayed at is just down the road."

"Which one?" I ask wryly.

Simon points at me, smirking. "Good one, Fray. Ah, the poor fallen child star, Lindsay Lohan."

"Fame corrupts," I say.

"That is does, that it does. Good thing we're all a bunch of good-for-nothing-losers that will probably never so much as even get our names in the paper, right?" he inquires, tossing his arm around my shoulders.

"Hey, speak for yourself," Izzy pipes up, sitting on one of the stone benches students nearly fight to the death to snag. "I've been in my local newspaper more times than I can count."

"That's just because you're an athletic freak of nature," Alec says, appearing out of nowhere with a lopsided grin, his hands shoved down in his pants pockets.

"You do know how to flatter me, big bro," Izzy says, fluttering her hand at him dramatically.

"Who are we waiting for?" Alec asks, gracefully ignoring Izzy—something we've all gotten rather used to doing.

"Tess and Magnus," Simon replies, producing a Twizzler from his backpack and gnawing on the end of it.

"Aw, man. We could be waiting forever."

"Yeah, it does take your boyfriend a long time to apply all that body glitter," Simon teases.

Alec just grins shyly, the complete opposite of his out-going sister. "He's not my boyfriend."

"But you want him to be," Izzy sings, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. She's still seated on the bench, the rest of us standing, and she's okay with that. Where most people would feel the need to get up, to be with the rest of the group, the group is already centered slightly on her anyway.

That's just the way Izzy is—supremely self-confident—the kind of girl I wanted to be when I was young.

How different things might be if I had been that girl.

* * *

"So, there's this new guy," Tessa says as we all walk towards the party, her arm locked with mine.

The sky has turned soft pink and gold, and the antique streetlamps flicker on down the curling sidewalks of the clean-cut campus. Kids with backpacks and messy hair and glazed over eyes mill around, most of them armed with a Starbucks cup.

The air is cool and gentle, fall air, and it smells like bonfires and football and camping. I keep inhaling as deeply as possible, letting every detail wash over me like soothing water. I try to memorize it all, but it will fall flat the next morning, when I can only remember shades of the setting.

"He's cute, I take it?" I ask Tess, snapping back into reality, looking over at her.

She giggles and nods. "_Very_ cute. I don't think he goes here. But I saw him walking around the campus yesterday—so maybe he's new."

"Oh my gosh!" Isabelle squeals, spinning towards us and walking backwards, her eyes wide, made even more dramatic by the black eyeliner she has winged out in the corners. "Blond guy? Super-hot British accent?"

"Well, I didn't talk to him, but he did have blond hair," Tess replies.

This strange little knot forms in my stomach. I can't help it, nor can I help the panicked scenarios running through my mind, no matter how premature.

I'm sure there are plenty of blond British guys in the world. It doesn't have to be _him_.

"I bet it's the same guy," Izzy announces. "He's so fucking sexy. Like _sex_y. I went up and asked him if he was new yesterday."

"You didn't!" Tess exclaims, a smile playing along her mouth, her eyes going big.

"I did," Izzy, replies, laughing and bouncing as she continues to walk backwards.

Up ahead, the boys glance back at us, and Simon rolls his eyes.

"He's so polite, you know, but like not really—like he's got the devil in his eyes, as my grandma always said," Izzy explains, getting more and more animated by the prospect of fresh meat.

Meanwhile, I get more and more quiet.

"So is he going here?" Tess demands.

"No. He said he's just visiting—trying to find an old friend."

The tip of my shoe scrubs the concrete sidewalk and I tip forward, only saved by the arm Tessa has locked with mine.

"Jesus, Clary! Klutz, much?" Isabelle is already screaming with laughter as she sees me almost bite the dust. She's nearly falling herself.

I roll my eyes weakly but have no comeback. I suddenly can't speak.

"You okay?" Tessa asks, always the more concerned friend.

I nod and give her a watery smile, letting her know that yes, physically, I'm fine. Internally, I'm a mess of terror and sickness.

We begin walking again. I try to focus on Simon up ahead, and the twisted up airplane on the back of his shirt—because the front of it says, _"_Don't call me Shirley," and _Airplane_ is one of my favorite movies. I try to think about it, playing it from the beginning in my mind.

"So, tell us more," Tess urges, cutting through the movie playing out in my head.

_Please, don't_, I think.

Izzy goes on, oblivious to my skin's rapid change from ivory to sea foam green.

"Okay, so, he's, like, over six feet tall. He's a little taller than me, so, I guess, maybe, like, six three or something? Anyway, I could totally wear heels would him. How awesome is that?"

"Very," Tess enthuses.

"I walked up to him, though, and was like, hey, are you new? And he said hello back, and that accent! Jesus! Just take me now."

Tessa and her are cracking up now, and I'm the silent counterpart, unable to even fake my amusement.

It can't be him, though.

What are the odds?

1982—that was the last time I saw him. Why would he come back now? He wouldn't. No, he wouldn't.

He _can't_, I think furiously.

He can't mess this up for me.

But I know he not only can, he will.

If given the chance.

* * *

**Thoughts, questions, comments, concerns? Let me know! Also, a question I want people to answer if they feel like it, just out of curiosity (because I like trying to get to know my readers), what is your personal favorite decade (can be one you've lived in or just always wanted to live in)?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here we are again! (: I'll be updating once more tonight! I hope, at least! (: Enjoy! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Year: 1923**

_I see him in the distance, from my spot on Mr. Carmen's broken down old fence._

_ This is Missouri, and the land is flat here, far in every direction, covered with tall green grass the cows just love to meander through. I can see miles every which way I look, but I can't go nowhere. Can't go nowhere at all._

_ The figure that's wavering on the horizon must be that boy all the women are giggling about in town—the boy with the shamefully long hair, unkempt by even the smallest dollop of pomade, the boy with the sinful walk and smile and the foreign accent._

_ He's the boy I've built up in my mind. I've already given him a name—Henry, because that's a fine name. He's a gentleman, despite his hair. He's beautiful. He's different, and he's so undeniably perfect in my mind that I'm afraid to see him now, in the flesh, 'cause he'll just fall short of what I've dreamed up him as._

_ Yet I stay still, don't move a muscle._

_ 'Cause I need to see him. I need to know if men are all the same everywhere in this big world that seems so small to me now._

_A few moments later, he's drawing close enough for me to see details: the gold tone of his skin, the crumpled up white button down he wears that isn't tucked in. _

_I can see now what the women mean about his walk. _

_He has a sort of rhythm to his gait, the way his long arms swing loosely and carelessly by his sides with each step, the way his shoulders tilt back and forth. His walk is smooth and confident, slow and easy._

_ When he gets very close, I can see him perfectly._

_ Gold eyes that shine in the light like the sun, bottled and liquefied and poured into eyes by God Himself. His cheekbones are high, his lips a perfect cupid's bow, his jaw square and strong and manly._

_ He is already looking at me, a half-cocked grin on those wonderful lips, and an extra spring in his step as he saunters over, like a man from one of those romance books I sneak from the library._

_ Then I look down at myself, in horror, at my dirty overalls because no one ever comes out this way, on the back gravel road to my house. No body but Mr. Carmen, and he's so old, he's blind in one eye, can't see out the other._

_ "Hello," he says, his voice lilting in a way that is so foreign to me, and therefore amazing because of its newness—like the fresh pair of shoes I get each year, only fantastic to me because they aren't all worn down and old like the others._

_ "Hi," I whisper back, my raspy little voice barely carrying. I drop my eyes to my lap because I am so shy, painfully shy to the point of the town's people thinking me to be some kind of ignorant._

_ "I'm new here," he says after he's walked all the way up to me, so close that I could see his own dirty shoes. "I was wondering if you could help me."_

_ Timidly, I raise my eyes to meet his, and they take my breath. My mouth opens like a fish out of water, and I make no sound. I can't._

_ He smiles, a sweet smile but his eyes glint mischievously, and then he holds his hand out, a long-fingered, strong-looking hand. "My name is Jace Wayland. What's yours?"_

_ I should have run at that moment._

_ But it was already too late._

* * *

The party is slightly amusing.

I've seen quite a few parties, though, in my day, and it's hard for me to distinguish what makes a _good_ party anymore.

There's lots of drinking and smoking—not just of cigarettes—and it's the very typical college party I've come to know and tolerate.

I'm good at making everyone else think I'm having a lovely time.

But loud, pulsing music that seems to be stuck on repeat and strobe lights are not really my cup of tea.

"You having a good time?" Simon yells, to be heard over the mechanical beat music.

"Great time!" I cry back.

"What?"

I just give him a double thumbs up.

He beams and says, "I'm going to go get a drink! You want one?"

I nod, so he slips into the masses of jumping, dry-humping college students.

My head hurts a little, and I'm too hot. The air in this packed dormitory is stale and sweaty and damp. I peel my hair from the nape of my neck and yank it up into a ponytail, sighing at the immediate difference.

"Clary!"

I turn towards Izzy just as she rams into me, laughing drunkenly. "Guess what?"

"What?" I ask her, laughing at little, too, because she's hanging off of me, her head rolling.

"That hot guy is here! I saw him!"

I'm not laughing anymore. My blood runs cold. "What?" I whisper.

Izzy must see my lips move because she answers me. "The hot guy! The one from the football team—the one whose babies I want to have! I told you about him yesterday, Clary!"

Relief floods through me, making give a startled bubble of laughter. "Oh. Oh! Then go get him, girl, before someone else does!"  
She straightens, pushes up her boobs, and salutes me. "Wish me luck!"

"You don't need it!" I tell her.

"Bless you, Clary," she replies, pinching my cheek before flouncing, off a little off balance but still with enough pop to get half the guys she passes to look at her.

I try to let myself go, to enjoy this party, but I never really can completely be removed from my conventions—not anymore. Once, a long time ago, but I wasn't even myself when I was him, I don't suppose. I was just…wild.

Reckless.

The flashing lights begin to really bother me. With each stab of red or blue, I see memories flicker behind my eyelids. Old and hazy, like dreams. Images of a cocky smile, of golden, messy curls, of broad shoulders, of a stomach cut with definition, my fingers trailing over each line and dip…

I feel sick, and I have to get out of here. The memories are rushing at me, beating me to death like stones being thrown with vicious force, and I find myself pushing through the masses of students, my chest tightening.

The crowd seems to get thicker the harder I try to get out, like quicksand that I'm sinking in.

"_What's your name?"_

_ "Clary," I whisper._

_ "Clary." My name rolls off his tongue smoothly, like honey. "That's a pretty name."_

_ Only when you say it, I think._

"Move!" I yell harshly to some kid wearing goggles and tightie-whities. He doesn't, so I shove him out of the way, hearing the snickers of immaturity follow me out, down the hall, until I'm pushing open some doors, letting the cool night air spill onto my over-heated skin.

I suck in desperate breaths, shivering at the change in temperature, disoriented by how dark it is outside, except for the streetlamps in the distance.

This is so typical of me, and I'm disgusted at myself.

Years of being happy, and now, at the mere thought of his return, I'm letting these memories overwhelm me.

It's just like _him_. Just like him to make me feel like this without even being here.

I want to scream, and I'm alone, so I do. I scream so loudly my voice echoes into the endless, starry sky, and a few birds startle out of the old oak trees lined down the pathways.

I push a few lank strands of hair off my cheeks, breathing harshly, trying to get myself back under control.

But I can't.

Especially when I see someone walking between the trees in front of me, a few brief flashes of blond curls, and I think, no. No. It can't be.

But that walk…

It's undeniable.

And then I feel this little…this little spark.

Hope.

It's beautiful, like a little flower blooming in a winter-drenched field. But I squash it down because it will only get me hurt.

Again.

And yet…

I break into a run, as hard as I can, my sneakers pounding on the concrete. "HEY!" I cry to the person, dodging from path to path, trying to get on the same one as him, but these sidewalks and trees—they swirl around like a labyrinth. "Hey, wait!"

My heart begins to pound. In panic.

What if I lose him?

And then the memories return, stronger.

_Running through a maze of green hedges, giggling._

_ I can't let him catch me. My heart flutters in delight as I hike my skirt up higher on my legs, kick off my sling-backs and run harder. I don't want him to catch me. But I do. Of course I do._

_ "Clary," he calls._

_ I trip a little over an upturned stone and let out a loud burst of laughter at my own clumsiness, which signals him to my location. _

_ And then, only moments later, he's crashing into me._

_ I squeal so loudly that I hear a few birds scatter around the various trees standing amongst the grounds. _

_ He lifts me up into the air, making me giggle breathlessly and a little nervously because I'm terrified he'll drop me, even though I know he won't. Then he's making a few more turns, and we are in the center of the maze, with him lying me down gently but quickly on the flowerbeds beside a little stone bench._

_ He looms over me, a pursed up smirk on his lips, his eyes dancing, and the sun—it's hitting the back of his golden hair perfectly, lighting to fire, and I think in that moment, that nothing can ever be as beautiful as he is now. Nothing. _

_ My laughter fades away a little, and I'm overcome. Overcome by everything, by his beauty and his face and his smell and the fact that he chose me. That we are in England, in his country house, living a life that I never thought I'd have._

_ It almost makes my chest hurt. The warmth and pressure is just too much._

_ So I look away from him, turning my head, pressing my overheated cheek to the cool flowers beneath us._

_ Then I feel his lips on my cheek, fire-hot against my soft skin. He doesn't speak aloud, but his mouth moves, and I feel the words. _

_ "I love you."_

_ I smile and close my eyes, basking in the warmth of him, like he's made of the sun._

_ I never want this to end._

_ He promises me it doesn't have to. _

_ Always and forever._

I collapse out of the memory and drop to the ground, breathing hard and shaking. A few tears are leaking out of my eyes, a little snot out of my nose.

I hate him.

I hate him so much that it blinds me.

I hate him because I love him.

I _loved_ him.

I've lost sight of the golden hair now. Maybe it was never there to begin with. Maybe even in my twisted up mind, he still taunts me. Maybe it will be that way until the end of time.

Always and forever.

* * *

**We will soon meet HIM. (:**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Last update of the evening! Enjoy! (: AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! I love reviews. Seriously. LOVE THEM.****  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

I trace the infinity tattoo on the inside of my wrist almost obsessively.

Izzy, who sits beside me in a post-party hung-over haze, notices and grabs my arm lightly, touching the ink. "I like this. I want one just like it."

I smile slightly, because it does look like one of those tattoos girls are getting because they are deemed "cute." I had this tattoo long before it came a fad, though.

"Did you get that for some guy?" Simon inquires, spraying a bunch of Cool Whip into his mouth as he lies over my bed, crunched next Alec who is attempting to revive my houseplants with water.

"Oh," Magnus pipes up from his place on the cluttered floor, beside Tessa who slumbers on his shoulder. "Some old boyfriend, Miss Fray? Are you holding out on us?"

I fake a smile and pull my knees to my chest. "No, you guys. I just got it because it was such a _hipster_ thing to do."

"To the hipsters!" is Simon, Alec, Magnus, and mine's cry.

Izzy rolls her eyes. "You guys are weird. I can't believe I'm hanging out with such losers. I should be with the jocks."

"Yes, getting gang banged by the whole football team would suit you, Izzy," Magnus remarks, grinning up at her as she stands.

She flips him off. "Oh, shut up. Like _you_ wouldn't like it."

"I have something called class, darling. And pride in myself." He sticks his tongue back at her playfully as she shoves his head when she passes.

"I'll see you dorks. I need some serious rest before class tomorrow. Need to recover." She opens the door.

"Good luck," I tell her.

"Thanks," she laughs humorlessly before shuffling out.

Then we resume our misery. The others are nursing hangovers, as well, but my own state of depression has nothing to do with alcohol.

"Oh, hey. I did see that blond guy," Magnus murmurs, rubbing at his eye. He leaves a streak of glitter liner behind on his temple.

"How'd you know it was him?" Simon asks curiously, finding my paddleball and unsuccessfully trying to start it.

"There aren't that many good-looking men at this college—especially not blond ones," is Magnus's reply.

Alec's shoulders seem to droop.

"Huh. I guess we're about to have more competition, then, huh guys?"

Magnus and Alec arch their brows at Simon in unison, and he promptly blushes. "Oh, right, never mind."

I'm trying to focus on breathing steadily through my nose, but it's not working and the boys notice.

"Hey, Clary, are you all right?" Alec asks softly, his sweet blue eyes going wide. "You look a little…um…"

"Puke green," Magnus finishes, wrinkling his nose. "If you're about to blow, please vacate the premises. I don't do vomit."

"Who _does_ do vomit?" Simon demands, rolling his eyes.

"I just mean," Magnus drawls back irritably, "that some people have a higher tolerance for it. One dry heave from someone, and it's all over for me."

Simon pretends to gag.

"Clary, are you all right?" Alec repeats, because he's a sweetheart like that.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I whisper hoarsely, trying to give him a smile. "I'm just…it's nothing."

They don't seem convinced, but then Simon goes onto this long story about this time his sister threw up and it caused a chain reaction throw-up-fest in their household, and Magnus is gagging and Simon's laughing and Alec's trying to hide his smile and all is forgotten about me.

Thankfully.

* * *

**_Year: 1923 (Same day as previous flashback)  
_**

_"Clary. That's a pretty name," he says around a little smile, and he digs into his pants pocket, producing a beat-up pack of cigarettes. He draws one of the little white sticks out, puts it between his lips, without ever losing his grin or my eye contact. He produces a light, igniting the end of the cigarette. "Do you smoke?"_

_ "No," I eek out, dropping his eyes for a moment before, as if unable not to, meeting them again._

_ He's still got that slightly devilish little smirk on his perfect lips. "You want to?"_

_ A shocked little laugh hiccups from my throat, and my eyes dart to the left and right of us, as if my father will suddenly appear. "Um…okay."_

_ He smiles, as if he wasn't expecting any other answer. I'm sure he's not accustomed to many girls saying no to him, to anything he asks. "Right then. Here you go." He takes the lit cigarette—the one that has already been in his mouth—and holds it out to me._

_ I go to grab it, but he gently bats my hand away._

_ "Ah-ah," he says, giving me a side smile. "Let me."_

_ My heart is pounding, beating like a wild drumbeat within my ribcage. I can feel it everywhere, radiating out until it trembles my fingers and vibrates my toes. _

_ The end of the cigarette brushes my mouth._

_ His golden eyes are still on mine, hot as the sun above us. That smile is permanently fixed onto him. He arches an amused brow, and I flush, realizing I've still got my lips sealed together, in pure amazement._

_ So I force them to part a bit, and he slides the cigarette in—the cigarette he's had in his mouth, too. Does this count as my first kiss? _

_ "Okay. Take a drag," he instructs softly._

_ I do, a big huge breath, and a gust of painful smoke rushes down into my chest, lighting my throat and lungs on tight fire. A huge cough erupts out of me, along with a cloud of gray, and I'm feeling panicked by the constriction in my breathing but I'm also trying to not make an even bigger fool of myself._

_ "Sorry. It's a bit of a shock, isn't it? I forgot to warn you," he murmurs, smiling a little still but there is some vague concern shinning in his eyes._

_ My fear makes me glare at him. "You knew!" I protest. "What a rotten trick!" Immediately, I'm taken back to all the times in school…the laughter, the fake promises, the humiliation that burns my cheeks._

_ I feel a few tears well up in my eyes at the reminder of those days._

_ Jace looks very concerned now, his smirk gone. "I didn't mean to trick you, Clary. I simply forgot—it's been some time since I've tried my first cigarette. My sincerest apologies."_

_ I peep at him suspiciously, debating on whether or not I'll believe him. No one has ever apologized to me before, so it doesn't take much pleading with his eyes for me to forgive. _

_ "All right," I say, quiet again now that things have settled. I look down into my lap._

_ He's silent for a moment, and I wonder if he'll leave now, go and never look back. Perhaps he'll like one of the girls in town and marry her. Then at least I'll get to see him again…_

_ "Clary. Is that short for something?"_

_ "Clarissa," I squeak, twisting my fingers together._

_ "Clarissa," he murmurs, trying it out, and it sounds so wonderful with his accent—much better than the way folks say it around here. "How old are you, Clarissa?"_

_ No one calls me Clarissa, but I don't correct him—because I like to hear him say it. I just flush and twist my fingers even harder. "F-fifteen."  
_

_He smiles slightly at this, a strange look in his eyes. "A baby, practically."  
_

_I feel my shoulders drop, the breath leaving my lungs._

_ "Tell me, Clarissa, where is the main road? I'm going for Jefferson City," he murmurs, taking a small drag off his cigarette, with ease._

_ I point in the general direction meekly. "If you…if you follow this road until it branches out into a fork, take the left fork and you can't miss the main road." _

_He's quiet for so long that I peep back over to him, find him regarding me with a small smile._

_ "You have a very lovely voice, Miss Clarissa, has anyone ever told you?"  
_

_I turn bright red at the compliment. It's been so long since I've got one. I let out this nervous little exhaled giggle and smooth my overalls down. "N-no."  
_

_"It's so soft and kind of raspy—like this blues singer I once met down in New Orleans."_

_ "You've been to New Orleans?" I squeak, my excitement making my voice come out stronger, without stutters, and my wide, searching eyes meet his._

_ He laughs once and nods, glancing out into the distance for a moment. "Yes, I've been. I've been all over. My goal is to have been everywhere—at least once."_

_ "That's a mighty big goal," I whisper to him._

_ His eyes flicker back to mine, alive and moving, more than any other person's I'd never seen before. Full of secrets and wonder and things unseen and unimaginable by me. "Big goals are the only kinds of goals to have, Clarissa. What else is there in life but dreams?"_

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I blink awake, staring up at my gray ceiling, hearing some loud music pulsing in the dorm above mine.

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

I'm late to class, so I throw on some clothes and make a dash for it.

The day ticks by rather slowly.

As all days do.

Everything plays out like usual. I sit in class and pretend to take notes, but really, I'm playing out all my favorite movies in my head—from beginning to end. Today's feature is _Dazed and Confused_, a good college movie and a rather accurate portrayal of the seventies, I believe. My grades won't suffer from my distraction. I've already taken these classes before—in 1992.

Not much has changed since then, except fashion and slang.

After class, I head towards the meeting spot of my friends. They are already there, lounging around and eating junk food—which is par for the course.

I like them all. They are good and sweet. Simon, even, has a slight appreciation for history that I find admirable.

But they resemble the same group of friends I had in '88. And in '95. It doesn't seem to me that, as with the classes at college, people never change. They just cycle through, endlessly.

"Clary!"

I blink and glance over to Simon. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing tonight? I thought we could go see a movie," he says.

"Can anyone else come?" Izzy demands, arching her brows over at him.

Alec and Magnus snicker, and Simon just stutters and blushes. "Oh, yeah! Of course. I meant everyone."

I try to ignore this. I've ignored it as long as I possibly can—this little crush on me Simon seems to have developed. I can't return his feelings, of course. I'm irreparably damaged, as well as the age factor. I will remain looking the same as I did when I was sixteen for the rest of eternity, so why bother falling in love with someone else, as if I even could, when they will just grow old and die, withering away like flowers come and go in the spring and fall.

There's no point in it all.

"So can you…go I mean, Clary?" Simon inquires.

"Down boy," Magnus chuckles.

"Be quiet, Magnus," I say, glaring briefly at him, despite myself. I can't stand to see Simon humiliated. I remember how that felt, even if it was over a hundred years ago. Quite literally. "I'll go, Simon."

"Great! I was thinking we—I mean us all—could see that new horror movie. You know, the one that will probably turn out so the main character is the crazy one all along?" he enthuses. "It'll be great!"

I begin to smile with the rest of them when my eyes drift, and words just tumble out of my mouth, an instinctual prayer, "Oh, God."  
Everyone stops.

"What?" Izzy demands, frowning, looking around to see where my gaze has frozen.

I clench my eyes shut. Open them again.

Still there.

I do it again. And again and again until Izzy's eyes hone in on him herself.

To the boy with the golden hair and eyes, leaning casually against a tree, watching me with a small smirk that hasn't changed in all these years. Of course nothing's changed about him. He's still perfect.

He still takes my breath.

At the same time he makes me feel sick.

"Holy shit! That's him! That's the guy! They guy with the accent!" Izzy exclaims excitedly, bouncing around. "Just look at him. Yum."

"Clary, he's staring at you!" Tess butts in for the first time, finally looking up from her thick medical texts.

"Oh, shit, he is!" Izzy cries, clutching my frozen arm. "Wave at him or something!"

I can't move. Can't breathe.

I can't look away from him, and he simply looks back, as if no years have passed between us, as if he's catching my eye across that square in Italy or across the dance floor in Spain.

"I'll wave at him, then," Izzy huffs, aggravated with my lack of enthusiasm. She holds up her fingers and wiggles them at him.

He barely glances over at her, but his smile remains as he waves back.

"Holy. Shit. He's so hot. Go talk to him, Clary!" Izzy urges. "He's totally giving you the hungry dog look! Go get laid, girl! You haven't got any our whole college experience—which just isn't normal, in my opinion."

"Izzy," Alec and Tess protest, sticking up for me as usual.

"I'm just saying! I'm beginning to wonder about you, if you know what I'm saying. I mean, you're definitely a lesbian if you don't think he's fuck-me hot."

"Isabelle, please," I groan, disgusted and terrified and horribly longing, deep down underneath. The urge to stand up and walk over to him is so incredibly strong that my stomach works into knots, that I feel a physical pull on me, as if someone tugging an invisible rope.

I get to my feet and begin to throw my books into my bag. "I've got to go."

"What?" Izzy cried, her voice shooting up two octaves.

"Clary, are you okay?" I'm not sure if it's Alec, Tess, or Simon that asks me. I'm too jumbled to make out individual voices.

"Yeah, fine," I whisper, frantically getting my belongings together. I toss my backpack over my shoulder. "I just…I, um, have a paper due tomorrow—I totally forgot about it. I'm just going to write it really fast and be done. Okay? I'll come to the movies, though. I'll be there…" And I start backing away, my eyes flickering back to where he was standing.

But he's not there this time.

He disappeared like smoke, just like I was always afraid he would.

* * *

**Thoughts please! I love hearing them! Whatever they might be! Unless they are really far out there, weird thoughts unrelated to this story. I get easily freaked out, so you might want to keep those to yourself. But I'm not worried! Y'all will amaze me, I'm sure!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: HELLO! Please keep reviewing! I'm feeling iffy about this story so far. Not sure how I'm liking it, so I need some feedback please! Y'all are amazing, by the way, for the reviews I've already gotten! THANK YOU! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**_Year: 1956_**

_"What do you think?" he whispers, his mouth at my ear._

_ I stare down at the sparkling city of New York, my eyes wide. It's night, and the buildings are lit up like Christmas, shimmering and hopeful. The cars that zoom around on the streets below look like flickering fireflies in the darkness of a summer night._

_ "It's beautiful," I say, my voice subdued._

_ "Where to next, after this?" he inquires, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands coming up to rest on my hips. He pulls me back a little, and I lean into him, inhaling deeply._

_ "It doesn't matter," I say, letting my eyes drift shut, relying on my ears to take in the sound of the Mills Brother's_ Someday You'll Want Me_ playing on record in the background, fighting for dominance over the honks and shouts of the city below. _

_ "Doesn't matter?" he asks lightly, his lips playfully skimming my jaw._

_ I feel goosebumps rise on my neck, and I try to pull away, laughing. "No, it doesn't matter."_

_ "You've run out of places you want to see already. How can it not matter?" he inquires._

_ I turn his hold, facing him. Slowly, I raise my gaze to meet his, and I just smile, because he knows the answer already._

_ It doesn't matter where we go—because we're together._

_ He doesn't realize that all this traveling, this seeing the world—it was never what I really wanted. All I ever wanted was him to love me and for me to love him back. _

_Because going all over the world without love is nothing. But going nowhere with love is everything._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I'm sifting through my notes from my Investigative Reporting class, trying to find the beginning of my paper—the little lines I'd quickly jotted down when inspiration struck me.

And then I see it.

The thick, creamy, little card with a carefully jotted note written on it.

_Meet me at 106 Macon Drive, tonight at midnight._

There's no signature at the bottom because he knows he doesn't need one. I'd recognize his hand writing anywhere.

"Are you okay, Clary?" Tess, whom is sitting on my bed, helping me study, asks. She arches her brows, flickers her eyes down to the small card trembling in my hand.

"Yeah, fine," I reply, immediately crumbling the note in my fist and tossing it into the trash.

It's best if I just pretend it never happened.

I'm not going to see him.

I can't.

* * *

I stare up at the ceiling, feeling increasingly detached from my body, as if I'm floating from above, staring down at myself, at my sloppy bun and sweatpants and dead face.

I think for a moment, what if I _am_ dead? What if I died in 1923 and this is just some kind of purgatory? If all of this is just a dream of sorts?

I decide I like that. Because if I'm just in purgatory, there's always the hope that I will get out. Maybe. One day. And I'll be able to move on.

To die.

There's a beauty in dying. Only when you realize you can't, do you see that beauty.

You only appreciate things when they are gone.

The ability to grow old, the ability to have children, to live once and then die. To not see the world continually progress but never change. To not see the inevitable circles we as humans run in. To be ignorant to it all.

I close my eyes.

No one else understands this, of course. How could my twenty-year-old friends understand it? How could even a ninety-year-old?

Only _he_ would know, of course. But he never really did see it like I did, anyway.

I sigh and roll over in my bed, tossing and turning, unable to get my mind of its constant loops.

My life plays like a movie in my head—my unending, long, long life.

Images are what I like. Pictures and films, I enjoy them. It's how I remember—to visualize. I can get lost in the movies I show in my mind. But there's also a price to pay at being so good at remembering.

I remember _everything_—not just from my favorite films but from my life. Everything quick smile, every flash of golden hair, every line of muscle, every brush of lips, every exhaled chuckle, every whispered I love you.

Every whispered lie.

I groan, shoving my face into my pillow.

I have a hard time sleeping, now. I have for the past twenty years. Maybe more. Or maybe I'm just always asleep now, in a way, so I can't really go to sleep, nor can I really wake up.

My phone buzzes and its screen lights up with a drunken text from Izzy. I see the time on the lockscreen.

11:47.

I still have time to make it to Macon Drive, I think, despite myself.

Macon Drive.

No doubt he chose that because of Mr. Macon—one of my only friends I had, in my real life, my purely _human_ life.

The light flickers off, and my tiny dorm room is plunged back into darkness, the only illumination coming from the dim streetlamp outside, shining in pale and cold.

My sigh fills the air.

I've already made up my mind. I had it made up from the moment I first saw him. Except I never really had in choice in it. I never had a choice in anything.

* * *

106 Macon Drive isn't but five minutes from the main part of campus, and it's filled with old Victorian-era homes that are mostly abandoned and falling in on themselves.

There's a new restoration project in the works, though, to restore the homes to their former glory and most likely turn them into cheap tourist attractions with promises of ghosts and history.

The construction crew's equipment has been left strewn all around the streets, sitting empty in the pale moon's light, cold and still.

I find 106, one of the more broken down homes yet to be disturbed by the meddlesome workers, and I climb the rickety steps carefully, hearing them moan under my weight.

The front door is open, so I walk in, glancing around the place, imagining what it might have looked like when it was young and beautiful and lived in by a wealthy family that took care of it.

The potential is still here, in the swooping staircase and the crown moldings and the dusty hardwoods that have somehow remained mostly un-rotted.

I drift down the hall and peer into the parlor that is disturbingly untouched, as if the previous owners had simply disappeared into thin air as they sat in the high backed chairs, with their fireplace roaring and their tea beside them on the table.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn down before I hear a small tap behind me.

I jump, gasping despite myself, turning. There's nothing but an empty, moonlight-drenched hall. Though my heart pounds, my eyes narrow and I walk forward, following the sound.

It occurs again, leading me along, back into the front hall and slowly up the winding steps. I grip the old wooden banister tightly, praying these stairs can hold my weight despite the complaining they are doing.

The staircase leads into a small alcove with a window seat and a huge bookshelf, filled with dusty, weathered tomes, so old and filthy I can no longer read the titles. The moon shines is brightly from the circular window above, casting silvery light around me.

The tap sounds yet again, making me turn towards the final three steps that lead up into the second-story hall.

There's only one door open, the one at the very end, and I know he's in there. I hold my shaky breath and ease forward, mindful of the unsteady flooring beneath me. As if the fall would kill me, even wound me.

Some human conventions are hard to shake.

And then, perhaps because I'm thinking of it—the floor gives way.

A startled scream erupts from my throat, and I'm falling, along with a few rotted boards, flying through the stale air. The weightlessness only lasts for a couple blissful seconds before I hit—hard, my head cracking into the hardwoods of the first level.

Then I'm lying on my back, staring up at the hole I've created in the floor, the remaining boards looking down at me jaggedly, old dust stirring like glitter from my disturbance.

It's strangely beautiful, and my mind is hazy and I'm cocking my head at it before I slip back into a memory, one that takes over completely, without my consent.

* * *

_I'm crying, the tears hot and quick down my cheeks as I hold the limp, rapidly cooling body to my chest._

_ "I told you this would happen," he says to me, glaring. A frightening streak of crimson is painted down his cheek. "I told you. This is why we don't settle, Clary."_

_ I can't respond to him. My sobs are too great. _

_ He's pacing back and forth, rubbing at his red-coated hands with a rag, as if he can clean all of that blood off, as if it will ever be gone. "We aren't meant for this. We're meant for more."  
_

_"Like what?" I cry to him. "Like spending an eternity running around the world? How has it that more? How is that anything?"_

_ His movements are jerky and erratic, mechanical almost, as he moves about the room. "You just don't understand. You don't understand anything," he says under his breath._

_ "You didn't have to kill them!" I scream, shaking as I hold the body closer to me, my tears falling into the light hair._

_ "Yes, I did!" he screams back, his eyes burning hot and wild. "They knew too much, Clarissa!"_

_ "So what if they did? It isn't as if anyone would believe them!" _

_ His face contorts in rage, and I'm truly afraid for a moment, afraid of him and the blood that stains him and the age-old fury in his eyes. But then he inhales, deep and steady, and his mask is back in place, the anger once again shoved down and simmering, deep within him._

_ He crouches down in front of me, and his bloodied hands go out, cupping my cheeks. They are slimy and cold, but I don't flinch. His eyes find mine and won't let go. "I'm sorry, Clary. I truly am. This was never my intention. But I will protect us above everything else, understand? If you aren't happy with our current lifestyle, we may try something new—as long as it doesn't involve getting so closely tied to the community. This was a mistake—one I've learned from."_

_ I swallow against my dry throat._

_ "Clary, you're everything to me," he whispers, his thumbs grazing over my cheekbones, no doubt leaving streaks of blood behind like ghoulish face paint. "I'm sorry I've had to hurt you. But it had to be done—to protect you, protect us. Don't you see?"_

_ I don't see. I can't. I just look away from him, to the lifeless bodies lying around us, and I whisper, brokenly, "Let's bury them."_

* * *

I come back, my eyes suddenly seeing the present again, and I bite back a scream.

His golden eyes are above me, sparkling with amusement. "What an entrance," he drawls, his voice still lilting British, still amused and condescending.

I feel sick, overwhelmed by him, because he's so close, and I've just fallen through a floor.

I shove him away from me and sit up, trying to catch my breath and ignore the pounding in my skull. Just because I can't die doesn't mean I can't feel pain, and my tumble is catching up to me. I'm aching all over.

Jace is crouched next to me, a faint smirk on his lips as he regards me.

He hasn't changed at all, of course, but his beauty still shocks me anew, as it did all those years ago when I first saw him, as it did every morning when I woke up and he was beside me.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and look away from him. "What do you want, Jace?"

"You."

At this, my eyes skip back to him and his widening smirk he's trying desperately to squash.

Renewed by my rage, I stand up sharply and glare down at him. "Don't play games with me."

He stands, as well, slow and graceful, unfolding his long and lean body. He steps closer to me, casually, his arms swinging loosely at his sides. "But you were always such fun to play with, Clary," he whispers to me, his face much too close to mine.

I slide back from him, my glare never wavering. "Don't get near me."

Jace sighs heavily. "Why must you be so difficult? I've _missed_ you." His voice is like music. Gentle. Rhythmic.

"You have not," I say. "The only thing you've missed is having someone else around you so you don't have to constantly be reminded how alone you truly are."

Jace puts his hands up to his chest, feigning pain for a moment, before his little grin returns. He takes a slow step to the side, a predatory step, his eyes never leaving mine. "You've got it wrong—as usual."

"Then enlighten me."

"I've tried, through the years. Yet you never believed me."

"That you loved me?"

He nods.

"You didn't," I say, watching him as he keeps moving to the left. I have to turn, to keep my back from being exposed to him. "You only love yourself."

"Now, that's not true," he says, giving me a look as he continues to circle me.

"I'm not going to spend time arguing with you about it. Why are you here?" I grind out, turning with him.

"I told you—I'm here for you. To collect what's mine."

"I'm not yours," I whisper, horrified and disgusted.

Jace suddenly lunges for me, making me gasp, but he simply grips my forearm, yanking it up, letting my sleeve fall down a bit to expose the tattoo on my wrist. He grins crookedly when he sees it and then his eyes flash to mine. "What's this, then?"

"Just a stupid tattoo—not the mark of your ownership," I growl.

"If it's so stupid to you, why haven't you gotten it removed?"

I open my mouth to respond, to come up with a very good reason why that he can find no holes in, but it takes too long and he smiles victoriously.

"When are you going to realize that we're destined for each other?" he asks, his voice deceptively sweet as he leans down towards me, his lips too close to mine.

I shove at his hard chest roughly, and he skips back a few steps, light and graceful, a smile lighting his face like a devilish little boy. "I don't want you touching me. I just want you to tell me why you've suddenly decided to reappear—and no more bullshit about how you just want me. I know you better than that. You're too damn prideful to ever come back to me unless you need something. You'd want me to come crawling back to you first."

Jace's eyebrows arch, his every move infuriatingly playful. "I see you've overcome your aversion to profanities." He saunters back close to me, peering down at me and pushing a few strands of fallen hair behind my ear. The familiar way in which he touches me makes my stomach curl. Jace's face darkens as he regards me, his mood shifting like the sea before a storm. "And you used to be such a good little girl."

"You corrupted me."

"You wanted to be corrupted," he whispers hotly and swiftly down into my mouth. Unable to help myself, my lips part, and I'm breathing him in, tasting him.

I quickly press my lips back together and scowl harshly back up at him.

"I must say that I like the new version of you better, anyway," Jace remarks, and his gleeful mood is back full-force. He takes a few steps back from me, swinging his arms easily around his legs. "Much more feisty."

"I would have thought you'd like me docile much more," I say, crossing my arms, my voice coming out strained.

"I guess you don't know me as well as you think, then."

"But on the other hand, I suppose in your twisted way of thinking, the stronger the resolve, the more rewarding it will be if you can get it to crumble," I mutter.

"I've already gotten it to crumble." He grins, his eyes dancing and sparkling. He motions around us grandly. "You're here, aren't you? And just in time. My Clary, always so punctual."

"I'm not your Clary. And I'm not here for long," I growl. "I'm leaving." I spin on my heel, preparing myself for the satisfying march out of here, but Jace is grabbing my upper arm swiftly, halting me.

"No, wait," he pleads softly. "I haven't seen you in so long. Don't go yet."

I grit my teeth for a moment before snapping my head to the side, so I can look up at him hatefully. Slowly and distinctly, I ask, "_Why are you here_?"

Jace's grin dawns again. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

I shove at him, hard, once again, and he just chuckles. "So childish."

"So serious," he replies, making a face at me.

I just shake my head and point at him as menacingly as I possibly can. "Stay out of my way, Jace. Just leave. I don't want you here. I don't want you in my life anymore. Just leave me alone."

And with that, before he can say anything else to goad me into staying any longer, I march out, just the way I've wanted to do since first arriving.

* * *

**If you wonder who I envision Jace as, look in my profile bio thingie for the links under Half Truths. I imagine him as the same guy for that story, as well, except for this story, I imagine him with his true British accent! (:**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: HEY, Y'ALL! Thank you for reading so far! I'm feeling it a little more, so hopefully, things are gonna pick up! (: I'm going to post one more chapter tonight, Chapter 6, so stay tuned! (:  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**_Year: 1923_**

_"Look! It looks like a bunny," I say, pointing up the shockingly blue sky and white puffs of clouds like cotton._

_ Jace is lying beside me. His arm is brushing mine, just faintly. "It does, doesn't it?" I feel him turn his head and look at me, but I can't turn my head and look back. Our faces would be too close together. It's strange enough being alone in Mr. Carmen's big field with a boy, nonetheless lying down with him and putting my face so close to his._

_ This whole ordeal is strange—the fact that I saw him again after he left for Jefferson City. I thought he'd never come back, that he'd fade in my mind until I would wonder if his whole existence had just been a dream. _

_ But he did come back._

_ He found me sitting on Mr. Carmen's fence, just like last time._

_ "Do you live close?" he inquires of me suddenly._

_ "A mile down the road," I whisper shyly, still focusing my eyes upward, on the bunny that is now breaking apart into strange fragments, making their own new shapes._

_ "Is this your property?"_

_ "No. It's Mr. Carmen's."_

_ "I don't know who that is," he says, and I hear the smile in his voice._

_ I smile back a little, embarrassed. "Oh, that's right. I forget you aren't from 'round here."  
_

_"My accent doesn't give it away?" he questions playfully._

_ I feel the kiss of heat on my cheeks, and I don't know what to say. So I just stay silent, and we fall back into peaceful quiet, watching the sky, wasting the day away but with each other._

_ I'm trying to memorize all of this, the way when he shifts, his arm hair will tickle mine, the way he smells when the wind shifts his clean scent towards me, the way I can feel the whole length of his body stretched along mine, without any contact, even—which baffles me._

_ I will remember it and pull the memory out later, when Jace is long gone and this moment will be the only thing that lets me know he was real—because I'm not imaginative enough to make this day up._

_ "Do you go to school?" Jace asks me, moving his hands so they rest on his flat stomach. His elbow pokes my side just gently, making me jump._

_ "N-no. Not no more."  
_

_"Why not?"_

_ "B-because my daddy…he wants me to stay at home and take care of things while he works."_

_ I can tell Jace doesn't like this. I can sense it._

_ "Why on earth wouldn't he want you to have a proper education?"_

_ "Things got to be done at the house. My mama died a couple years back, and Daddy works so…he don't got nobody else to take care of things inside the house. 'Cept me. Lots of people don't got a education 'round here."  
_

_"You deserve to have an education, Miss Clarissa," he murmurs to me, his head turning again. I can feel his warm breath fan across my cheek._

_ I feel uneasy and excited, but I try to focus on what he's saying. "Why do you think?"  
_

_"Because an education opens so many doors. When you learn things, you expand your mind. You learn how to put your thoughts into words so that others may see how naturally brilliant you are."_

_ "But I'm not…n-naturally brilliant," I whisper, picking at my overalls._

_ "Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes," he comments, quickly and off-handedly, as if so obvious it doesn't need further elaboration. "But some people won't take the time to see that. They'll hear that way of talking you have, and they will think you ignorant, when it couldn't be further from the truth. A good education helps to supply you the words needed in order to display your thoughts—thoughts that could be of great importance to something."  
_

_"I don't have none of those—important thoughts."_

_ "How could you say such a thing? Everyone has important thoughts—some more than others, I suppose, but you…you seem like you have quite a few." I feel Jace shift next to me, so that his head rests on his propped up hand. _

_ "What makes you think that?" I whisper, looking down my body to pick a few burrs off my overalls. _

_ "I don't know. Just a feeling."  
_

_I flush again. "Is that…is that w-why you're talkin' so nice to me?"_

_ "One of many reasons," he comments. The smile is back in his voice._

_ I peep over at him, a little in shock, a little in curiosity. I'm tense, waiting for the punch line that will inevitably come, like that time Vera Marshall asked me where I got my dress and let on like she liked it a whole lot and when I told her I made it, she laughed at me with all the other girls until I ran away and cried._

_ But Jace doesn't seem ready to poke fun. He's just smiling slightly, and the breeze is ruffling his horribly long and mussed hair. _

_ I take a quick gasp of air, and ask, "What reasons?"_

_ His smile just widens a bit, at the same time it softens, and he leans down towards me—real close and slow—and I can't breathe all of a sudden. _

_ I shut my eyes tight because I can't watch him as he draws closer. I'm terrified. There's this stone on my chest, keeping me from moving and breathing. My stomach quivers. My skin is on fire. _

_ The darkness of my eyelids is more terrifying, still, because I don't know where he is, if he has perhaps pulled back now and is silently laughing at my tense, nervous face._

_ And then I feel it—a softness, like a whisper of a feather, against my skin. _

_ His lips._

_ Against mine._

_ He presses his mouth against my bottom lip, then my top, then the corner of my shaky, pressed-together lips, and he goes so slow and carefully that I finally relax just slightly and _feel_._

_ Feel the warmth, the beauty of it, so delicate and shivering like a small soap bubble being held on the tip of my index finger, wavering with every little movement, precarious and ready to burst._

_ His lips push fully against mine, briefly and wonderfully, and then he's pulling away, and I'm opening my eyes to stare up into his liquid sun orbs. _

_ My first kiss. I never thought I would have it. Most boys take an instant dislike to me._

_ Jace smiles just faintly, not seemingly disappointed with my lack of skill in this area. He just seems…fond._

_ "Is this real?" I whisper, because he's too beautiful._

_ "Yes," he replies._

_ And for the first time since I saw him, I believe it._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I can't tell if the water running down my face is just from the shower or from my eyes, as well.

I shiver, despite the heat of the steamy shower stall, remembering everything. Remembering every little touch from Jace, after the night previous with him in that old house.

Why is he doing this to me? Bringing back things I'd rather forget?

I can never forget, though.

I can't forget anything.

It's as much of a curse as eternal life.

My eyes wander down to my wrist, with the thin, black tattoo of the infinity sign. Why haven't I gotten it removed, as Jace asked me?

The answer is that I've never even thought about it. I never once considered removing it. What does that mean? That I'm still painfully dependent on him, despite a few decades away from him? Does his hold go so deep that I don't even question severing all ties with him?

I swallow back vomit and turn the water off, climbing out of the shower and wrapping my towel around me tightly.

I dry off and get dressed and fix my red curls until they are halfway cute, and then I'm off down the hall, towards my room.

Tess and Izzy are there waiting for me, ready to go to the movies. The times didn't work out last night, so we delayed the trip for tonight. I wished that we had gone last night. Maybe I would have never gone to that damn house and seen him. Because now that I've seen him, talked with him, he's all I can think about.

I hate him for it.

But mostly, I hate myself.

* * *

"You seem really spaced out tonight," Alec says to me quietly as we all meander towards the student theater.

Izzy and Magnus and Simon and Tess are all up ahead of us, chattering rapidly about something that's happened with one of the professors they share, and Alec and I, both majoring in the same thing, aren't included.

"I'm a little tired," I say to him, offering a weak smile.

He smiles back, not fooled. His eyes are so soft and blue. "You can tell me, you know. I'm not going to tell anyone else."

I lace my arm with his. "I know you wouldn't, Alec."

"Is it that blond guy? The one Izzy's obsessed with?"

I like Alec more than I've liked quite a few friends in the last decade, but his keen ability to pick up on the smallest of details is as unnerving as it is unfortunate.

I find myself sighing. "Maybe."

"You're the friend he's looking for, right?" Alec asks, his voice gentle and soothing, not at all pushy.

"Yes," I murmur, looking down at my Converse-clad feet as we walk.

"Is he stalking you?"

I freeze for a moment. I'd never thought of it in such a way, but I suppose Jace is quite the stalker. He's always just been…more. Everything he does is hard for me to put in concrete, popular terms.

Like love. It was never _just_ love for me. It was soul-crushing, suffocating, burning desire with a mixture of dangerous attachment and a handful of other things I couldn't indentify with words. Some things are just beyond words, beyond anything but the raw emotion.

Saying Jace is a stalker is the best term, but it's not _the right term_.

I don't know how to explain this to Alec, though, without Alec calling the campus police to be on the lookout for a blond guy with a faint British accent so I just nod and say, "Kind of."

"Clary, you should tell someone about it."

"I told you."

"I guessed," he says, giving me a look with just the smallest of smile to soften the blow of his criticism.

"Look, Jace isn't really a stalker, per se. He's just…he's clingy—and intense."

"How long did you date him?"

I almost laugh. Date is another term that is just so far removed from the truth that it's comical. We never _dated_. It's such a simple word for such a complex equation that it doesn't make sense.

"A few years," I manage to get out with a straight face. _A few years—as in sixty,_ I think.

"I take it the breakup went south or something? When you saw him yesterday, I thought you were going to be sick or something."

"It wasn't a good relationship from the get-go," I whisper, this time more serious. Flashes of gentlemanly kisses and holding open doors and murmured compliments zip through my mind. Memories from the beginning. Before things got so messed up.

But even then, looking back on it now, after I've taken my fair share of psychology classes, I can see the warning signs of a bad relationship. I was a verbally and physically abused, self-conscious little girl with father issues. Jace…well, I've never really been exactly sure what his childhood was like, but from what he told me, it wasn't fantastic, either. The product of this was a controlling, needy boy that was nearly insane with jealousy, but armed with dangerous charm.

The combination of us together was disastrous.

"He didn't…he didn't beat you or anything, did he?" Alec asks, his eyes brimming with concern.

"Oh, no," I say, because out of all the things Jace did, he never laid a hand on me. He once punched a hole through a wall by my head—but he never hit me.

The only person that did that was my father.

"He just…he's a little crazy," I tell Alec.

"I'd say. If he came here to just creep on you. You're over him, right? I mean, Simon and Magnus and I—we can tell him to get lost, Clary. You don't have to deal with this guy."

I rest my head gratefully on Alec's shoulder, smelling his laundry detergent. Such a clean and sweet boy—the kind of boy I should have found. Well, a boy that wasn't gay, obviously, but a boy with Alec's personality.

"It's okay," I tell him firmly. "I can deal with Jace."

* * *

**Please, please, please let me know what y'all think! I don't bite! For all the readers that aren't reviewing... I'm calling you out! But in the nicest, most gentle way possible. I just really like hearing from my readers. I respond to everyone. It's a way for me to see how I'm doing in your eyes, maybe a way to see what I need to work on, and I just really like getting to know y'all! So please review for me! (: I'd be forever grateful! (:**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am sure this chapter is FILLED with more typos than usual, and I apologize in advance. I'm just SUPER tired. Please ignore them as best you can! And goodnight/good morning to y'all, wherever y'all may be! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

The movie is predictable.

I'm not sure if it's just me or just a poor movie. It's been years since a film has actually surprised me. I've gotten too good at finding the little signs.

I miss it.

I miss being able to watch a movie and being able to enjoy it and being able to gasp at all the right parts with the rest of the audience.

I've always loved movies, ever since I saw my first silent one, with Jace, in 1925. It was called _Greed_, and it was disturbing. I'll never forget it, or the shocked way I felt while watching it. Shocked and amazed by those black, moving pictures.

And now, movies are filled with things—explosions and aliens and completely new planets, all made up, all fake and beautifully done—but they aren't _interesting_ anymore. Only a handful capture my attention now.

Yet another thing immortality has robbed from me.

* * *

**_Year: 1933_**

_"It's beautiful," I say, as the last note from the piano wavers delicately in the air._

_ Jace removes his slender fingers from the keys and glances over at me in the candlelight sitting atop the grand piano's lid. He's all gold and messy hair. "You liked it?"  
_

_"Of course I did. I loved it."_

_ "I wrote it for you."  
_

_"You _wrote_ it?" I whisper, my eyes going wide._

_ "Yes," he replies, his eyes intense and his smile beautiful. "I write music occasionally, when the mood strikes me."_

_ "That's amazing," I murmur, looking down at the keys in awe. "I didn't know."_

_ "I've never told you," he replies, shrugging. "I haven't written anything in quite some time."_

_ "Any other secret talents I should know about?" I ask with a small smile, glancing back over at him._

_ He grins. "I paint a little."  
_

_"Really?" I demand._

_ "Yes." He tilts his head back and forth, debating, before his eyes flicker down at the keys his fingers just so skillfully danced across. "I prefer music, though."  
_

_"Why?" I inquire._

_ He is silent for a long time, so long that I don't know what to think, but then his eyes are raised back to mine and all pretenses of a smile have slipped away. "Music is eternal. Like us."_

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I muse over Jace's old statement on music. I didn't really understand then. I didn't understand most things he said. It sometimes takes years and knowledge of your own to understand wisdom.

Music is eternal, I think now as we walk home from the movies. My films—they aren't as everlasting. I suppose they will endure for some time. But with movies, their impact can fade. If I were to watch a movie from the 1950's tonight, I would find it cheesy, most likely. I could appreciate certain aspects of it, but it wouldn't be cutting edge or as profound anymore—not like it was when I first saw it, in the fifties.

Music, though…it does last forever. I can listen to something from the 1940's and still get goosebumps. That kind of passion doesn't fade.

It makes me feel less lonely, to think of music—even though that was always Jace's area of expertise. I really never had any kind of talent, creatively. I couldn't play anything, couldn't draw anything, couldn't envision anything on my own. Perhaps that's why I always did love movies—because it envisioned it for me.

And now, without my movies, I feel slightly lost.

But I can't think of music too much.

Music was Jace's. It still is.

* * *

When I get to my dorm room, he's there, looking through my things curiously.

I'm horrified and angry, but not surprised, even though I suppose I should be, seeing as how you need ID and keys to get into this building, nonetheless my room.

But Jace always could get his way when he wanted.

"Why are you here?" I ask tiredly, kicking the door shut behind me.

He glances over, as unsurprised to see me as I am him. He's got a frame in his hand, and he's looking down at the picture within it, the snapshot of Simon and me at some weird band concert he dragged me to last year.

"Who is this?" Jace inquires, ignoring my question.

"Like I'm telling you," I mutter, jerking the picture from his grasp.

Jace looks irritated—no doubt by the prospect of another man even coming near me—but he surprises me by letting it go. Perhaps he doesn't find Simon's glasses and obscure, vaguely nerdy t-shirts to be very threatening.

"Your friends are very unusual," Jace murmurs, his eyes wandering to the movie posters I've got hanging on my walls—mostly of things we went and saw together, when they first came out. I didn't do that to remember our time together. It just worked out that way. Wherever I went, Jace was with me, and visa versa.

"You're going to criticize my friends now?" I ask deadly.

"Not criticize. I was simply making an observation." Jace smirks and looks over at me. He's shadowed in the darkness of my room, half-lit only by the dim streetlamp's light pouring in from the window. "I just would have thought you would surround yourself with more intelligent friends."

"They _are_ intelligent," I snap, dropping my purse onto the floor and glaring at him. "You think just because you can creep on me for a few days that you know them?"

"Creep?" Jace looks amused by my popular slang. The word usage makes me feel small, especially when coming out of his mouth, in his accent, with such class.

"Why don't you just go?" I demand. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"You know the answer to that. Why do you even ask these things?" Jace rolls his eyes and then begins looking at the knick-knacks littering my dresser.

"Jace, please. Just _please_ go. Let me be happy."

"_Are_ you happy, Clary?" he inquires softly, touching the old coins Simon brought me back from his summer trip to Paris. "You don't seem happy."

"You don't know anything."

"You didn't answer my question." Jace's eyes find mine again and hold on, cutting deep inside me and digging out the truth before I can hide it. "You're going through the motions, love. This," he pauses to motion around us at my tiny, cramped room, "is what makes you happy?"

"Being away from you makes me happy," I snarl with more bitterness than I think possible. "It doesn't so much matter about the where—as long as I'm not with you."

Jace looks briefly injured, but not really hurt. He's too conceited to ever believe I could be happy without him. He turns, walks towards me slowly, says, "Look at you. In your little dormitory room with your little small-town hero friends and your movie nights. Going to class each day, taking the same course I'm sure you've taken many times before, going to college again—for the sixth time now? Or is it the seventh?"

"Shut up," I whisper hotly, staring at him with unveiled hatred.

"Pretending you're one of them—one of the mindless little students that get pumped in and out of here like sewage. Pretending that you can move on, that you can grow old. Pretending, pretending, pretending."

"Shut up!" I want to shout, but it just comes out as another whisper, tense and shaky.

He's still walking towards me, eyeing me with something like amusement and pity. "Do you enjoy that, Clary? Building up this whole lie? Making friends that you will eventually see wither and die? Being in this school, where you aren't learning anything new, seeing anything you haven't seen a thousand times before? Does that make you _feel_ human again? Does it give you a little thrill to be around all the easily crushed souls? To be around that sense of frantic searching?"

"Shut up, Jace," I breathe, trembling.

He's still walking closer, his voice growing in fervor, feeding off my anger. "Frantic because they all know they can die tomorrow, in an hour, in an instant. But not you. You're more than that. Better than that. Yet you pretend you're like them—replaceable, breakable—useless."

"They aren't useless," I manage to get out.

"No, not to you, I suppose. They are useful in building your little fantasy—in which you're the happy-go-lucky human just like them, with your whole life ahead of you, with your college experience changing you, maturing you, helping you grow into a well-adjusted adult—the future of the world, your generation." Jace's voice is bright and cheerful, a mockery of the college brochures and recruiters. "But in reality, your generation has died off—or is so old, they're all drooling and wearing diapers."

"Shut up, Jace, just shut up!" I cry, shoving at his chest.

He grins, delighted at the rise he's getting out of me. "I just don't understand you sometimes, though, Clary. It's obvious you're miserable—I can see it in your eyes. This boredom is not you."

"I thought you were in favor of higher education," I say under my breath.

"I was, but I have since changed my mind. These places don't teach you anything. You read something from a book—that's nothing. You need to go and see and do. Plenty of these pathetic little children don't know anything about the world—and they never will. They only way to know is to go and do."

"Not everyone can jet around the world, Jace."

"No, and a shame that is. But you can. You did. And you turned your nose up at it," he sighs, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"I did not. I just…it's you, Jace! It's…you're…you're horrible," I grind out. "You're psychotic and obsessive-compulsive and narcissistic and sociopathic, even!"

Jace smirks, tilting his head to the side a bit. "Look at you and all your fancy textbook words. Tell me, did you take years of psychology classes just to be able to point out the medical terms for everything wrong with me? Or did you take them to justify to yourself why, despite all those things about me, you stayed with me and loved me for so long?"

I explode, a massive explosion, erupting inside me, but outwardly, I remain calm. I cannot allow myself to get passionately argumentative with him. Those fights always ended in the most violent kind of sex for us, and that is completely out of the question now.

"I took those classes to see if your many disorders were justifiable by your childhood or simply the product of your utter insanity from birth," I say, proudly cool.

Jace's smirk is wiped away.

"I've come to find that it was the from birth thing. You have no excuse."

Jace leans down to me suddenly, making me gasp a bit, and his eyes are hot and burning into mine, his breath scorching against my lips and chin when he speaks. "Then what is your excuse for ever loving me, Clary? What does all of that say about you?"

"I didn't love you, just like you never loved me," I reply.

Jace gives a half grin, surprising me. The air between us grows tense, more tense than before, quivering like a rubber band being pulled further and further, stretched to the snapping point. "What do all of those textbooks on the mind say about denial, my love?"

I resist the urge to slap him. That would be all it took for that rubber band to break.

My chest feels heavy and my skin feels tight, but I continue to glare up at him dully, until he smiles again and puts his lips almost against mine, so that with each word, I can taste him.

"Goodnight, Clary. I will see you tomorrow, I'm sure."

And then he leaves.

* * *

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**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Running super late, haven't got a chance to check my reviews yet, but I did have a chance to write this so I'm posting it and I'll respond to all my lovely reviews tomorrow I promise and I will also update Half Truths for those of you that have read it and this is the longest run-on sentence EVER! Ah! Thank y'all so much! Y'all are seriously fantastic for reading and reviewing! Have a great day/night!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**_Year: 1924_**

_"You frightened me," I whisper, clutching my chest, feeling my heart pound underneath._

_ Jace stands in my window, his hair more messy than usual, his cheeks pink with the cold of a Missouri winter. There's a strange, frantic and glowing light in his eyes as he smiles at me. "My apologies."  
_

_I glance around my room, feeling a bit nervous tonight. This isn't the first time he's visited me, of course, over the past six months, but he's never been so late into the evening, never waited so long that I gave up on him and changed into my nightgown. _

_ I go for my housecoat, embarrassed by the white, frilly thing I'm wearing that's highly inappropriate for his presence, when he's right in front of me, making me jump again._

_ "What are you doing?" he asks._

_ "I'm puttin' on my robe," I mumble, shifting my weight, hearing the hardwoods beneath me grumble. I'm acutely aware that my father is downstairs, as I always am. Tonight, he might not be drunk enough. What if hears voices?_

_ He'll kill Jace._

_ And me._

_ "Why?" Jace's head tilts to the side, slow and deliberately. That light in his eyes is growing stronger, and I begin to wonder if it's not my imagination at all that they appear to be glowing in the dark night of my room._

_ "It's…I…it's not p-proper," I whisper, stuttering for the first time in two months around him. I'm ashamed that it's back._

_ Jace doesn't appear to notice, however. He just gives a ghost of a smile. "You needn't worry about such things, Clary."_

_ I feel my shoulders droop. I was sure that he had seen many women in much more undress than I, but the thought of it now makes my skin itch with self-consciousness and jealousy._

_ "You can be at ease with me," Jace murmurs, almost hypnotically, taking a step forward, so that all my eyes see is his chest._

_ I feel a lump in my throat and I go to move back, but Jace's hands come up, grabbing the tops of my arms, gently holding me in place. I look up at him and gasp, immediately as trapped in his brightly burning eyes as I am constricted by his hold._

_ His golden orbs are swirling, flickering like twin flames in the dim light of my room. He's frighteningly beautiful, like some sort of big cat—like the ones I've seen in Mr. Mason's books at the store—the ones that are sleek and stunning but not something you'd ever want to see up close and personal._

_ I stumble back a little, but Jace's hold prevents me from falling. He hauls me back up so that I stand on my feet, although just barely, because he's lifting me now, so that his lips are close to mine and his scent is enveloping me and my head is getting heavy._

_ "You can always be at ease with me," he reiterates, and then he kisses me._

_ Immediately, it's different._

_ Horrible._

_ Terrifying._

_ Excruciating._

_ Like my soul is being forcibly removed from my body, and I'm struggling to hold onto it. It's as if I've let go of a balloon string, and I'm chasing it, trying to grab it before the balloon can flutter up into the sky and never be seen again._

_ And then it's over, and I hear Jace whisper out of the darkness, "I'm sorry."_

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I let go of the boy and he flops back onto a bench, his eyes wide and dazed and horrified—the very same way I must have looked the first time it happened to me.

Renewed, I lean down into him and whisper, "You aren't going to remember this." Then I blink, and he repeats the motion, except his eyelids never open again.

Passed out.

I sigh and push my hair back behind my ears, regarding the young man before me with detached emotion.

It's always like this—when I Renew. I have power and life zinging in my veins, and the fact that I've just drained someone of their energy for a good few months doesn't compute. I just simply don't care.

Until later.

"Happy anniversary, Clary."

I jump and turn towards the mouth of the alley I'm in, glaring at Jace as he walks forward, the gold of his hair shimmering in the dirty streetlamp behind him.

"Is this why you're here? To relish in the anniversary of my worst decision ever made?"

"Worst decision?" he inquires, arching his brows innocently. "I thought you counted me as that."

"I made the decision to become like you, therefore to be with you," I say through my teeth. "Which is my worst decision."

"Oh, I see." He nods a few times, sticking his hands into his jeans pockets, shoving at them, making them ride dangerously low. It's a little odd to see him in the same fashion as all other college boys—ripped pants and plain t-shirts and Nikes.

Except his Nikes are old—from the '70's, which I suppose is in vogue, anyway. His pants really are ripped, not fashionably bought that way but out of years of owning them. And his t-shirt is a little frayed at the hem.

He never did much care for clothes and style and being in the proper state of dress. Though he would do as much as possible for people not to notice something was completely off about him.

"Who's he?" Jace jerks his chin towards the slumbering boy I've drained. "Another one of your friends? Or just some pathetic stranger you picked because he looked strong? Don't want to kill anyone, do we?" Jace is smirking, that pursed up little smirk that has for many years, driven me to irrational rage.

Now, though, I just take a deep breath and say, "No, we don't. I don't enjoy the death of innocent people, as you do."

Jace makes a face at me, but the action is playful. Not serious. He's never been serious about the value of the human life. "I don't enjoy their death. I just don't _care_ about their death. There's a difference."

"That's much more sane."

Jace chuckles once, shaking his head and staggering closer. "I have really missed you, Clary. I know you don't believe me, but it's true."

"I don't know what you expect me to say to that," I ground out hollowly.

"You don't have to say anything." Jace is drawing close now. "I just wanted you to know."

"I want you to leave."

"I don't _want _to leave."

"Then what _do_ you want?" I ask, in exasperation, throwing my arms up.

"I want a lot of things, Clary." Jace is directly in front of me now, making me feel small, as usual. His eyes find mine in the dim light around us. "I want you with me again."

"That's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"You know why!" I cry, shaking a little. I tell myself it's because of the sudden cold in the air. "I'm done with you! I'm done going around the world with you, only knowing you, only doing what you want! I'm done being your play thing!"

"You were never my play thing," he says, so earnestly that no actor could ever out-do him. His eyes are big and pitiful.

_Liar_.

"You were my other half. My _equal_, Clary. You still are." He bends down a little, so we are almost eye-level. "I'm in love with you—I always have been."

"We've already established that your greatest love affair was with yourself," I snap. "Don't try to tell me otherwise."

"Why won't you believe me?" he demands, straightening again, the shadow of anger passing over his face. "What have I ever done to make you think I'm a liar? I've always been honest about everything."

I let out an incredulous laugh. His statement is too far removed from the truth not to. "Everything, huh? What about the other girls, Jace? The other girls you did this to! I wasn't even the first one! You're just too afraid to live alone so you take our lives from us and you make us believe you love us so we stay with you, and then, when you get tired of them, or they get tired of your insane possessiveness—you part! Why can't you just let me leave?"

Jace's hands are suddenly on my arms, hauling me up and swiftly pressing me back against the brick wall of an old antique shop, long since closed up for the night. There's a flickering, buzzing dirty light overhead, shattering yellow over Jace's head, making his face into a contrast of illumination and shadow.

"You don't understand anything, Clary," Jace hisses. "You're the only one I never let go. You're the only one I care about. And I never _lied to you about them._ You just never asked me."

"That's an omission of the truth."

"It's not a lie."

"You're such a bastard," I say, and I'm feeling my bottom lip tremble. I'm going to cry. I don't know why. I've told myself many times that the beautiful dark haired girl that showed up so many years ago, professing her love to Jace and her grief over his absence—that she was my saving grace. She helped me finally realize that I needed to get away from him, a feeling that had been brewing inside for years then.

I told myself I wasn't hurt.

_But I was_.

I was so hurt, and I still am, as evidence by the squeezing in my chest.

He _ruined_ me. He made me believe he loved me when no one else in the world did, and even that wasn't true. He was just using me.

And he still is.

"Don't cry," he says, the tight grip he has on my arms loosening a bit. Crying always was his weakness when it came to me—the only time I ever saw him truly uncomfortable.

And that's what it was—discomfort. Not knowing how to deal with it. It wasn't sympathy or anything normal. Just his lack of knowledge in comforting crying girls.

"Shut up and let me go," I growl, jerking away from him. I turn and wipe at my eyes furiously. The tears just keep coming, hot and painful.

"Clary, please. _Please_ don't cry."

"I'm not crying over you—just so you know," I say pathetically. "I'm just…emotional—you remember how it is after Renewing."

Jace is silent. I'm sure he doesn't believe me.

"Jesus. Why can't you just leave me alone?" I ask him, still scrubbing at my weeping eyes.

"I've already told—"

"Right. You love me. And I've already told _you_, that I know that's a lie. So I guess we're at a stalemate, aren't we?"

Jace is quiet again, for a long, long time before he whispers back, almost sounding regretful, "We always have been."

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: How is everyone? Good I hope! Anyway, enjoy! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**_Year: 1923_**

_The pain slices across my cheek, making me cry out softly._

_ "You worthless little bitch," my father mutters drunkenly, rearing back to hit me again. _

_ But I'm scared and jump out of the way—which only enrages him more when he misses me and knocks off one of the glass vases from our table. It shatters into a million pieces against the warped floor._

_ "Please, Daddy," I cry, my voice shaking. "Don't hit me again." My ears are already ringing from where he's boxed at them so much._

_ He's not listening, though. He's much beyond listening. "Get over here!" he yells, his voice echoing horrifyingly around me. He swings at me, and this time, I'm not fast enough, and he catches my cheek again._

_ It's throbbing._

_ I'm crying harder now, and my heart hurts worse than my body. I hurt everywhere, really—everywhere inside. It's like I'm shattering each time he hits me like this. I feel like I'm made of glass, and each strike against me, breaks me—not physically—further and further beyond repair. Physical pain fades, but emotional pain lasts forever, in one form or another. _

_ I fail him, time and time again._

_ I disappoint him._

_ "Just like your goddamned mother!" he bellows, and that cuts deeper than anything he could do to my body. It hurts like a physical stab to my stomach, and it radiates through me, hot and sickening._

_ Comparing me to my mother is as low as he could go—and he does it almost every night. And every night, it never gets any easier. _

_ It never hurts less than to be compared to a crazy woman. A woman that left me behind. That left her family behind. _

_ My biggest fear is becoming her. I'm already scared I'm more like her, because people don't like me. They think I'm stupid, just like they thought Mama was stupid—because she was quiet, too. What if I go crazy, too? What if I blow my brains out? What if someone finds me, like I found my own mother? Half my skull gone? Blood splattered across the pure white of the winter's first snowfall?_

_ I can't be like her. The terror of becoming her is with my every waking moment, and Daddy knows it. He knows and he doesn't care._

_ So I do what I always do when I can't take it anymore._

_ I run._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

The party my friends drag me to is hot and cramped and too loud, so I escape.

I walk for a long time in the cool winter night. I walk far from the campus, out towards the city, but I stop on the old stone bridge over the dark, churning river. I lean against the railing of it, looking out at the huge, grand bridge in the distance, the new bridge that all cars travel to get across the water—the one I stand on now forgotten, an antique. I see the lights of the city in the distance, turning the sky hazy and hiding the stars from view.

I dig around in my pocket, finding the pack of cigarettes I bought from the little gas station down the road. I light one and take a long drag off of it, thinking. I always think—too much.

I think of Jace, and how I haven't seen him in two weeks now. I'm grateful, but not yet hopeful. I know him too well to think he's just left without getting what he wanted.

He's just teasing me, like always.

My eyes close, memories of my human life flashing back at me like lightening: my mother's death, my father's spiraling addiction to alcohol, his nightly beatings, the darkness that consumed me all the time, the light that came with Jace, with his golden eyes and hair and skin—the safety he brought with him, too. He made me feel good, once upon a time. He made me feel happy and not so pathetic and loved—something I'd never in all my life truly felt before.

He was my first everything.

The first boy to hold my hand, the first boy to kiss me, the first boy to consume my every waking thought, to make my heart beat fast when he drew near, to cause my body to go haywire with his presence.

He was my first time, of course, and the only other man since then to make love to me.

My first and last.

I tried a few times, over the years. I tried to get over him by kissing another boy. But I never went further than that. I held onto my old values and morals and I never felt that spark either—that desire. I never could with the overwhelming guilt welling inside me—guilt because, after everything, to even touch another man's hand felt like betraying _him_.

I take a deep drag from my cigarette, trying to calm myself down, but it's too late. The memories are already bombarding me: his hands in my hair, my hands in his, our feverish kisses, my body being slammed into a wall, a bed, the floor, his hands _everywhere_, hot and big and deliciously rough feeling against my skin, the fire between us, always burning, no matter what, my first taste of passion and desire and animalistic need.

He showed me everything.

I lean forward, feeling sick, and I think I might vomit over the side of the bridge.

But then I hear footsteps dragging, and I know it's him and I won't be so weak in front of him.

"Thought you quit smoking," he murmurs calmly.

I glance over at him. He's still wearing the same white t-shirt and jeans and old Nikes as last time, and he's sans jacket, despite the bitter cold in the air. He simply has his hands shoved deep down into his pockets as his blond curls are ruffled by the wind coming from the water.

"I took it up again," I grumble back.

He doesn't reply, just walks over to stand beside me. He peers down at the dark river waters below as they move restlessly. "I'm sorry, Clary."

"What for this time?" I ask deadly, staring out at the city.

"For hurting you."

"You didn't—"

"I know I did. I hurt you because I didn't tell you about the girls before you. But, Clary, you have to understand—I became immortal in 1782. That was quite a long time before I met you, in '23. I should have told you, but when I met you…I was enamored by you. I didn't even think of those other women after you."

"I'm sure that's what you said to all of them," I sigh, shaking my head before taking another inhale from my cigarette.

"No, it's not. I never said that to any of them because I didn't love any of them like I love you. I believe we have many loves throughout our lives, some more important than others, and those girls—I loved them, for a time, but eventually, it faded. It never did with you, though—never for a moment. I've loved you since the first time I saw you, in your dirty overalls with your little stutter and your frizzy red hair. And I have continued loving you, throughout all these years—the longest I've ever been with anyone, or thought of anyone."

I just shake my head, trying to let his words roll off of me like water. "You have a funny way of showing your love, Jace."

"Everything I did was out of love for you—whether it was sane or not," he says.

"That's just the thing—it never was sane. It never was _healthy_—our relationship," I say, looking over at him, my eyes wide, trying to make him see.

But he doesn't see. He shakes his head and says, "Not all relationships are perfect, Clary. Every relationship is unhealthy because they all depend on people—and all people are unhealthy, unstable in some way or another. Relationships are bonds and bonds are not _healthy_, Clary."

"Our relationship was fucked up, Jace. That's all I'm saying. I mean…it still is! Look at you! You're practically stalking me!"  
His mood suddenly shifts, like a light switch, because that's how he has always been. He's Bipolar, I suppose. All the signs are there.

"You claim to be so smart," he says lowly, moving towards me, and his walk is so smooth and predatory that I take a step back. "But you don't know the first thing about me." He's closed the gap between us in two strides, and I can't get away fast enough and his hand is in the back of my hair, jerking my head back roughly, making me gasp in pain. His face is close to mine, his eyes on fire in the darkness of the night. "It truly is stunning how you take so many of those psychology classes, spend all that time diagnosing me, yet never taking a moment to diagnose yourself. You spent sixty years with me, and you knew exactly what I was, what I did—and you didn't care. You didn't care I'd killed people. You didn't care I killed any man that looked at you. You didn't care about any of that—you stayed with me. You followed me. You _loved_ me—this apparently psychotic monster you say you hate now—so what does that say about you, Clary?"

He's pulling my hair so sharply that my eyes are watering, and he's backing me up, too, until my back strikes the cool railing of the bridge and he's bending me back over it a bit, making me dizzy.

His face is still in mine, his breath hot and his eyes livid and darkly amused. "You helped me drain people. You helped me steal. You helped me cheat. You followed me around the world. I never made you do any of those things, despite what you think. You could have left at any time. You could have never even been turned to begin with but you fucking begged me like a child to make you like me. Because you didn't want to be alone either, just like I didn't."

"Let go of me, you bastard," I whisper through trembling lips, looking up at him through the water in my eyes.

"You think I'm so disturbed, don't you? But the truth of the matter is, you're just as psychotic as I am. You would have to be—to kiss my lips after they'd just got done draining some poor innocent girl, to have sex with me in the same alley a dead body we'd just killed lay."

I close my eyes and try to shake my head, but his grip in my hair is so tight. "Stop," I order, but my voice comes out weak and shaky.

Jace's free hand grabs my chin, forces my face close to his again, because I'm trying to pull away. "You liked it. You liked that darkness, didn't you? You liked killing because it made you feel alive—to have those souls in your hands, to take from them what you'd been robbed of. It felt good, didn't it? It was dangerous and sexy and you liked it. I know you did."

"No!" I cry.

"Don't lie to me," he growls, jerking my head back once, making me wince. "I know you did because I felt that way, too. I liked it, too, Clary." His lips are suddenly against mine, hot and familiar and instantly, my body has caught fire and responded to him, because it's been so long, and I'm ashamed.

"I liked being with you," he says, lips brushing mine kisses with each word. Then he tilts his head down, tilts mine back, and his mouth is skimming over my chin. "I always felt so alive with you, Clary." I'm suddenly aware of the way his body is against mine, aware of how his knee is separating mine gently, his breath hot against the expanse of my throat. "In every way." He rocks his body forward, pressing himself against me, and I feel him, so hard, between my legs, and the fire is _everywhere_ now and I'm torn between hating him and wanting to give into him.

Then my phone rings in my pocket and everything happens at once.

I'm snapped back into my good senses and ready to knee him, but he's already dancing away, easily plucking my cell from my jacket. He looks down at the screen, walking backwards as I try to catch up with him, but legs aren't working properly.

He grins slightly, his face ghostly lit by my phone. "Your friends are calling you."

"Give me my phone," I order.

"Should I answer it? You seem a bit out of breath. Wouldn't want them to know what you've been up to, now would you?" he inquires, a smirk on his lips.

I lunge for him, but he's too quick.

He skitters away with an exhaled chuckle, like a devilish little boy's laugh. "Too slow."

"Jace, stop it. You're acting like a child," I snap.

"Boys mature more slowly than girls, Clarissa."

"GIVE ME MY DAMN PHONE!"

But he's already answering it with his most charming, "Hello?"

I freeze, horrified.

He grins over at me before saying, in a perfect American accent, "This is Clary's phone, yes." There's a pause. "She's indisposed at the moment, but I can take a message."

I finally yank the phone from his hand and hold it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Clary, Jesus, who was that?" Simon demands. "Where are you? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Just some idiot who stole my phone for a second," I mutter, glaring over at Jace, whom is peering back down into the river as if nothing happened. "I'm just on my way back. I needed some air."

"Well, don't bother coming back. Izzy flashed the whole party and then promptly threw up, so we're dragging her back to the dorms and Alec is lecturing her and she's crying and Magnus is trying to hunt down all the guys that took video of her indiscretion. So you might as well just go home. Everyone is sufficiently bummed at the moment, needless to say."

I'm barely listening as I nod, even though Simon can't see me. "Okay. I'll come over to Izzy's dorm, though. She'll need some support."

"Yeah, when she's not drunk off her ass, I'm sure she will. Anyway, I'll see you in a minute."

"Okay," I say, and then we're hanging up and I'm turning back towards Jace but he's already gone.

I just sigh, thankful, and then I make my way back home.

* * *

**Updating again in an hour or so (:**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So... um. This chapter turned out WAY darker than I first intended it to. Seriously. Just a little warning. If suicide in disturbing detail is not your cup of tea when reading, skip over the 1915 excerpt. If you are frightened by really dark themes, skip over the 1973 excerpt, too. Just a warning. I don't know why this turned out so creepy. I swear it's not a reflection on me! I still have stuffed animals (I'm in college!), and I still cry in during the Lion King. This is so unlike me, and I'm a little creeped out. Anyway... uh, enjoy? I guess.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**_Year: 1915_**

_"Mama?" I ask, drifting through the house. It's cold and quiet. It scares me. The snow is falling outside, muffling every sound, closing in._

_ "Mama?" I ask again but there's no answer._

_ Just silence._

_ And then the wind blows, hissing against the house, making me jump and look towards the windows, which are bright and frozen._

_ I shudder, dropping my schoolbooks, and then I'm going up to Mama's room, where I usually find her sleeping. She sleeps a lot._

_ But she's not there._

_ The bed is made. The bed is never made, but it's made today, the corners tucked and everything. The bare room is spotless, along with the rest of the house. No clutter or dust or anything out of place._

_ Daddy will be happy when he gets home._

_ "Mama?" I whine because I'm hungry. I feel my stomach rumbling angrily inside me as I clop back down the steps. "Mama!"_

_ The back door is open. There's a small crack in it, letting ice-white light poor in the empty, shivering kitchen. I ease forward. There's no fire, no sound, and I'm very scared now. My hunger is forgotten rather suddenly._

_ "Mama?" I whisper, pushing open the back door. It creaks as it moves, and the back yard blanketed in pure white stings my eyes. I stumble down the steps, and I see the footprints in the white—leading towards the barn. "Mama!" I run off, following the trail, but then I draw closer to the big red barn and I get slow because I realize how far the land stretches on either side of me, endless flat snow in all directions._

_ It's so quiet, and I've never heard it so quiet before._

_ So I still to listen to it, to the silence._

_ And then it's shattered._

_ A crack—a gunshot—rips through the air, making me jerk. At first, I think a hunter must have mistaken me for some sort of game, but I'm unhurt._

_ The shot came from the barn._

_ Why?  
_

_I stare at the barn, at the door that is also cracked open, except not light pours from it—only black shadow._

_ I'm as frozen as the icicles on my house. _

_ I can't move._

_ "Mama?" I ask, my voice trembling._

_ I move forward, and it takes hours for me to get to the barn, to get the nerve to push open the door, to fight down that sense of wrongness in my stomach._

_ I barely get the door open and I slip inside, the smell of hay and animals strong inside. It's dark in here, save for the loft window above that lets in the cool winter light._

_ "Mama?" I inquire and my voice echoes._

_ Then I see something—a flash of white from in the loft—a piece of cloth, so I climb up the ladder. I'm scared of heights, so it takes me ten minutes to get up. _

_ And then I see her._

_ She's lying there, and she almost looks as if she's sleeping. She's wearing her white nightgown, and her body is relaxed. But there's a gun in her hand. And her face is gone._

_ Then I'm falling, flying through the air._

_ I don't realize that I'm really falling, though, until I hit the ground below me. My head rings. My stomach revolts, and I'm vomiting, choking on it. And then I'm lying there, motionless, because I _can't move_, and I wonder if I'm dead._

_ And I hope I am._

* * *

_When I wake again, for a moment, I wonder if it has all been a bad dream._

_ But it hasn't been._

_ The truth is there for me to see when I find the dried vomit on my school dress, the foot of my mother hanging off the loft above me, and then I hear my name, and I'm crying and getting up and running because I can't get away fast enough._

_ I tear through the snow, and it's dark now and the lights are burning at my house and it's _safe_. _

_ I run and run and run, and I notice there is blood streaking behind me, dropping ugly blots and ruining the white of the snow as I go. Is it my blood? I don't know._

_ "CLARY!"  
_

I'm here!_ I want to scream, but I can't._

_ My voice is gone._

_ There are people, I see now. People and lamps and talking, all converging and meandering around my house. Faces shadowed with darkness and suspicion and despair._

_ "There she is!" I hear someone cry, and then there's a chain reaction of gasps and rapid-fire questions but I don't answer any of them._

_ I can't._

_ I just push past everyone, in search of my father because he can help me. He can help Mama._

_ And when I find him, he crouches down in front of me, and he sees the dried blood and sickness on me, and he asks, lowly, "_What did that whore do?"

* * *

**_Year: 1923_**

_I laugh breathlessly as Jace tickles my sides, and I try to roll away from him but he grabs the edge of my shirt underneath my overalls and it pulls up a little._

_ I blush furiously at the exposed skin and try to shove it down, but Jace is staring at it, not in any kind of inappropriate way, but in concern—concern at the angry, shockingly vivid black and blue bruise forming on my ribs._

_ "How did this happen?" he inquires, and he touches the place gently, making me jump and gasp and get goosebumps. It's tender. And my skin is strangely sensitive, too, to his rough-feeling fingers._

_ "I…f-fell," I say quickly and yank the shirt down, sitting up and looking over at Jace. _

_ He's frowning. Doesn't believe me. "You fell?"_

_ I nod rapidly. "T-there's a step out my back door, and I fell outta it the other day. I got two left f-feet, you know."  
_

_Jace's frown deepens. He moves closer to me, and the tall wavering grass of Mr. Carmen's field around us hides us and I feel very safe. And nervous, because he is very close now, and I hope he will kiss me again—because he hasn't since the first time, the week before._

_ But he doesn't kiss me. He says, "You aren't ungraceful, Clary."  
_

_"Uh-huh, I am. You ain't never seen me walkin' 'round in nice shoes 'sides these old boots here. But when I have ta' go into town, I have ta' put on nice shoes, and they're hard to walk in. S-so I tripped in 'em."_

_ "No one did this to you?"_

_ The question is so straightforward that it makes me nervous, and my stutter gets worse as I try to answer him. "N-n-n-n-n-no."  
_

_"Clary, who did it? Tell me," he says, and his eyes are dark and he's scaring me for the first time ever._

_ I don't want to tell him all of a sudden, not that I did in the first place. My daddy beating on me is embarrassing enough, but now, I fear a bit for my own daddy's well-being. It's something to do with Jace's eyes. They are too intent, too mysterious for my liking._

_ So I say, "No one, Jace."_

_ And he lets it go._

_ For now._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

When I wake after a night of trying to console a broken-up, drunken Isabelle, I go straight to the showers and clean the night off of me. When I get back to my room, I try to study, to distract myself.

When that doesn't work (because I already know everything I need for the test tomorrow), I play out _Gaslight_, which is one of my all time favorite movies, in my head.

That doesn't work either.

Jace's reappearance drags up too many things.

His words the night previous haunts me.

Because it's true.

I did loose myself for a long time into the darkness of immortality. It just reached a point where my future was the horizon, and that was no longer a comforting, bright symbol for possibility, but something that stretched out forever, endless so that I would never reach the sun and forever be caught in the cycle of falling night.

I didn't care anymore, so I did what I had to to feel real again.

An immortal only has to Renew every year, on the anniversary of their turning spell, and even then, you don't have to take anyone's life. I usually just would take from ten or so different people, until I got my fill, until my body was no longer wound down. Because starving myself did nothing but fatigue me. Jace said that if I didn't Renew at all, I'd slow down until I could no longer move and I would just be trapped inside my mind, unable to get away from myself.

So I took what I needed, but when I lost myself, I lost my morals, too, and I took all the time.

Jace had always had an appetite for souls. He would drain many people, but not to the brink of death because I wouldn't let him.

But when I went off the metaphorical deep-end, he quickly followed suit and our body count rose high.

It makes you feel normal—human again—for a brief amount of time. Everything is lovely and bright and the world looses that dull hue for a second and you can feel your heart beating so solidly within your chest and that emptiness that nags at you every waking moment goes away.

The temptation was too great to resist, and I gave in.

And, of course, I'll never forgive myself.

Or Jace.

* * *

**_Year: 1973_**

_"You sense that?" Jace asks me, and his eyes are burning so brightly in the shadow of the alley. He's Renewed, and his aura is vibrant and strong and passionate and beautiful and frightening. The girl he holds up is passed out, but still breathing. Barely. Barely holding onto her life. "Take the rest of her," Jace whispers to me._

_ My eyes flicker to the mouth of the alley. I hear a siren blare past us, but I don't see the police car. _

_ "Clary."_

_ I look back over at him, torn._

_ He holds the girl out to me a bit, urging me. "Can't you feel it? That sweet last breath of life in her? Take it from her. Take control of it. Feel alive with me."_

_ I bite my lip, and I'm jittery. _

_ "She's already dying, anyway," Jace says, shrugging coolly. "She's been dying since the moment she was born. Just go ahead and end her misery."_

_ He puts it like that and it makes sense and I want it. I want to feel good. It's been two months since I've Renewed, on my anniversary, and I want it again. I want that feeling again because Jace says it feels so good—to have all that life bursting inside you, filling the void._

_ "Do it," he whispers, a smile curling his mouth. He's manic. "Do it, Clary. Take the rest." He holds the girl out again, by the roots of her hair, and this time, I lunge forward._

_ I grab her and I seal my lips to hers without hesitation and I inhale, pulling the rest of her life from her. She fights it for a moment and the fight is what makes the victory so much sweeter. Then I'm being filled with sunshine and spring air and _life_._

_ It's beautiful._

_ "Good girl," Jace whispers, and I feel him stroke my hair and then I'm holding the girl up on my own know, following her sinking body to the ground because I don't want to give up yet. _

_ But there's nothing left in her anymore. Her body is just a shell and her soul is gone, and I'm _alive_._

_ I drop her, and she flops to the ground in a heap. I stare at her without emotion, which is strange because all the other emotions are taking flight within me. Every time I blink, I don't see darkness. I see an explosion of colors._

_ I glance over to Jace, and he's watching me with the same bright eyes I know I must have, and he's lusty. I can feel it rolling off of him in waves, delicious and intoxicating._

_ So I smile and then I'm slamming him into the alley wall, my lips attacking his. His hands tangle harshly into my hair, and then he turns us, so my back is shoved roughly against the cold brick. He slides me up the wall, parts my legs with his knee, presses forward, lets out a shuddering sound of pleasure._

_ His hands are under my skirt, yanking down my panties brutally, and then his hand is between us and I hear his zipper go down amongst our panting breaths and hard kisses._

_ He's gripping my naked hips, pulling me up the wall, and then I'm filled everywhere, physically, emotionally, and I can't breathe._

_ "Do you feel alive, Clary?" he asks me, his breath hot and unrelenting against my skin, against my ear as he thrusts against me._

_ "Yes," I murmur, my eyes closing, my head falling heavily back against the wall. My fingers find his hair, weaving into the locks, holding his head tightly against my neck._

_ "Do you love me?"  
_

_"Yes," I repeat. The light behind my eyelids is fading now, the darkness once again encroaching, but this time it's sweeter. It's alluring. I want to go into it and never return, never again feel afraid or lost or inadequate._

_ "How long?"  
_

_"Always and forever," I whisper, and I decide to jump into the darkness, to fall through it, endlessly. _

_ With Jace._

_For always and forever._

* * *

**... I scared myself. Some of you might not find that disturbing. But I did. ANYWAY, please don't abandon this story. I promise it'll get better. I freak myself out really easily, so I probably won't be writing like this every chapter. I'll reign myself in! I promise! Don't LEAVE ME YET!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Still hanging in there? ENJOY! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

**_Year: 2013_**

I go through classes in a daze the next day.

I can't focus on anything.

My obsession with Jace has returned with him, and the only movie that plays in my head is my own life story.

* * *

**_Year: 1924_**

_"But I want to be like you," I tell Jace as he draws patterns on my arm._

_ We sit in Mr. Carmen's field, our usual meeting place, but everything is different now, different than when I first met him._

_ Now, I know what he is._

_ Immortal._

_ Unchanging._

_ Forever._

_ "Being like me, Clary, is…difficult," he murmurs calmly. The breeze ruffles his messy hair as he bends down further over my arm. He's drawing words I can't make out against my skin. "Simply _being_ forever is not as wonderful as it sounds."_

_ "If you were alone, I guess, but not if…not if you got someone else," I say, very shyly, because I'm afraid he does not feel the same way for me as I feel for him. I fear he doesn't loose his breath each time I come into view, as I do with him. I fear he doesn't forget his name when our eyes meet, as I do with him. I fear he doesn't feel this bursting pressure within his chest at my nearness, as I do with him._

_ Jace's eyes flicker up and meet mine, sun-drenched and beautiful. "Clary, this is the most monumental decision you'll make. It isn't to be thought of lightly."  
_

_"I don't think of it lightly," I reply quickly, scooting closer to him and where he is laid out, propped up on his elbow. "Jace, if you'd have me—"_

_ "Of course I'd have you, Clary." He sits up, and our noses touch. "I _want_ you, Clary."_

_ I blush despite myself, and the rush of blood in my cheeks is almost painful. _

_ "But I don't want you to rush into this decision. It is overwhelmingly massive," Jace whispers softly, his lips brushing mine, making me dizzy._

_ I lean in, suddenly and on instinct, and press my lips firmly to his, sighing at the relief and wonder that rush through me._

_ He kisses me back, languidly, his mouth melding against mine over and over again until I can't breathe but he never gives me time to take a breath._

_ Then my world is tilting back because Jace is leaning me down, laying my body gently on the picnic blanket I always bring for us, and then he's shifting, so he's on top of me, and I'm shocked._

_ I feel the squeeze in my chest, the fear of this new position and what it might entail. I'm horribly innocent about such things. I have no clue what to expect from him, what he might do—or want._

_ But his lips are so warm and soft and his taste is so sweet, like honey, that I can't feel any discomfort for long. Soon, my body is relaxing beneath his, and his hand is trailing up and down my arm, slowly, back and forth, until I sigh._

_ Then I feel his tongue gently slip into my mouth and touch mine._

_ This is when I freeze, because this is all beyond me, and Jace feels immediately and pulls away._

_ "I'm s-sorry," I blurt, fearful that he will be upset._

_ "Why are you sorry?" he asks, arching his brows, and he doesn't _look_ upset. Only vaguely sleepy. _

_ Happy._

_ "I just…I d-don't know how to k-ki…kiss like t-that," I whisper, embarrassed now. My eyes drop to the front of his shirt, where a few buttons have come undone. I can see the smooth golden skin stretched over his collarbones, and I suddenly wonder what the rest of him looks like. The rest of his chest and his stomach. _

_ I flush at the thought._

_ "Don't be sorry for something so inconsequential, Clary," Jace murmurs, brushing his lips over my cheek tenderly. "You have all the time in the world to learn. To learn everything the world has to offer."_

_ "So you'll do it?" I ask, excitedly. My hands go up and turn to fists against his shirt, balling the fabric between my palms._

_ "On one condition," he replies, tracing his lips down over my jaw._

_ Goosebumps erupt over my skin. "O-okay," I say, shaky._

_ "You'll come away with me—leave this town behind—your father behind. It'll just be us. You and I, and I'll show you the world."  
It's as if he's dipped into my mind and found out my biggest desires and presented them to be in a neat little package._

_ But I'm terrified._

_ On an instinctual level, I know he's not fully human. I know he almost killed me that night, when he drained me of almost every drop of energy in my body. I know that my father will most likely die on his own, without my help. _

_ But this town hates me._

_ The people in it are fearful of me, the little girl who is her mother's child, whom could snap at any moment._

_ My father himself hates me, too._

_ The world is so large, but now, it feels so small. Suffocating. _

_ But Jace says it's not._

_ He's promised me it isn't._

_ He's told me about his travels, his time spent in New Orleans and New York and even other countries. The idea of leaving the state of Missouri seems like such a monumental leap in my own life that a different country is almost like a different planet._

_ I'm scared, of course._

_ But also thrilled._

_ It's the same way I've felt ever since I first met Jace, ever since I first saw him walking down that gravel road, and now, I know it's the way I want to feel the rest of my life._

_ Forever._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

"Hey, Clary," Alec says, bounding up beside me as I walk towards my next class.

"Hey," I reply.

"You look really…uh, groggy."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

"Sorry, it's just…are you getting enough rest?"

"I've been having a little trouble sleeping," I admit because that will placate him. I do look awful.

Alec sighs and shakes his head. "Me, too. Seeing your sister flash a bunch of guys—while you're in the room—does a toll on your ability to sleep peacefully. Just an FYI."

I laugh, the first time in a couple days and lace my arm with his. "I'm sorry for your luck."

"If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all—that's what my grandma used to say," he murmurs tiredly. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you since I haven't seen you in a couple days—has that ex of your finally taken the hint?"

I stiffen a little, thinking of Jace's disappearance on the bridge. That was three nights ago. I haven't even caught a glimpse of him since. I get the feeling he isn't here. He's doing something else.

But he will be back.

"He's not been around in a few days," I tell Alec honestly.

"You don't sound convinced he won't stay gone, though," he replies, catching on. Once again, Alec's uncanny ability to see through bullshit is as amazing as it is inconvenient.

I just let out a long, tired breath. "He never does."

"What's the deal with him? Why don't you just get a restraining order or something?" Alec inquires, a pucker forming between his dark brows.

"He is…he's difficult to keep away. And very charming."

"Oh, one of those guys. The kind that could talk his way out of going to jail, huh?"

"Yeah," I laugh humorlessly.

"You aren't getting back with him, are you?" When I'm quiet for a moment—not hesitancy but in contemplation of how to answer his question—Alec moans.

"Oh, no, Clary! You aren't one of _those_ girls, are you? The one that always goes back to the douche bag boyfriend?"

I smile a bit despite myself. "No, I'm not. It's just…it's difficult to explain, Alec."

"Try me. You'd be surprised how much knowledge I have on bad relationships," he says, a little glumly.

I rest my head on his shoulder for a moment as we walk, a sign of comfort to him because I love Alec. I hate that he's in pain, pining over Magnus, who never even sees him.

I wonder if he'll let me switch the subject to his own love life, but I know he won't. He's too smart to see through such deception.

So I try to answer him honestly.

"Jace is…he was my first love, if it was love. And he's got a lot of mental health issues. It's not…it's not as though he's just a naturally mean person—it's just that he needs help. He's Bipolar and egotistical and a handful of other things…and despite all that, he can hide it very well—which makes him dangerous.

"I fell head over heels for him when I was fifteen. I came from a rather bad family, and he swooped in and saved me from it all like a hero out of a movie or something. I felt safe with him. I felt wanted and loved with him—for the longest time. I really did. It wasn't until the last few years of our time together that I saw the cracks in his façade. I saw that he was eaten up with jealousy. Any man that looked at me, he went postal on. And he was so possessive—very concerned about me knowing that I was his and only his—all that.

"He never hurt me. He never hit me, and he was never even verbally abusive, really. He just…insane, for lack of a better word."

Alec is quiet for a moment, digesting my cleaned up, immortal-free story. "So why did you finally break up with him?"

"I found out he had some girlfriends before me that he treated similar." That's as close to the truth as I can get. "And it was kind of my wake-up call, that I needed to get away from him."

"Do you still love him?" Alec asks, point-blank, startling me.

I glance around the manicured lawns of our college, the grassy hills and shady oaks the students lounge under, the old buildings that house classrooms and must and professors. It's a nice atmosphere, but it's not…it's not special.

And for a moment, I get lost in my thoughts. I begin thinking…is anywhere special? Is anywhere special without someone special there with you? Does that special someone make _someplace_ special? Can a shack be special, if you're in love with the person in it with you?

Because the world used to be special to me.

It used to be filled with wonder, whether Jace and I were in Paris or in a remote Alaskan lodge.

Everything was beautiful.

Was it because of Jace?

Because I loved him?

Did I really love him?

Before I knew him? But what was _him_? Who _was_ he? Who _is_ he?

I'm dizzy, and I manage a weak, "I don't know. I have no clue if you can even love someone like Jace."

"Just because he's insane doesn't mean you can't love him, Clary. What if you just got him help or something? Maybe get him to see a psychiatrist or something? Get him on some meds. My aunt has Bipolar, and she was scary before she got on her medicine—but now she's great—like a new person."

The thought of Jace sitting on a couch and recounting his childhood to someone, having breakthroughs and tissues handy, makes me laugh almost hysterically.

But for Alec's sake, I quickly reign myself back in.

"I don't think that's possible," I say.

"Then tell him to get lost." Alec pauses and stops walking, pulling me to a halt, too. "I think maybe you might feel bad for him—the way you talk about him…I can almost hear pity in your voice. You need to figure out if you think you love him because you feel bad for him—_or_ if you love him and therefore feel bad for him."

My mind spins.

It's the first time I've had such a sweet, insightful human friend that can actually stump me because honestly, Alec raises a good point.

I look at him, at his blue eyes and his gentle smile, and I see him age before my very eyes. I see his dark hair turn gray and brittle, see his pale, smooth skin sag and drip down like old candle wax. I see him on his deathbed, his eyes hazy. I see his tombstone.

And suddenly, my problems with Jace don't seem so important.

I just see death. The death of everyone around me.

But I go on.

Watching these people die.

And I can't stand it.

* * *

**I would really not want to live forever. Just saying. So question to get y'all talking to me because not many of y'all are talking to me and it breaks my heart. Sigh. So the question is: If you had to go back and YOU HAD TO SPEND ten years back in time, what decade would you choose? It's a little different from what's your favorite decade question because you might have a favorite decade, but you might not want to spend ten years in it. So pick which one and let me know please! (: **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey, y'all! How is everyone? I'll be posting again later, so please stay tuned! (;**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**_Year: 1924_**

_The streets of my town are strangely empty at this time of night. I've never seen it so dead, without the gaggles of older women, whom have nothing better to do than sit around the bank and general store and talk. They would talk and talk, talk about me and my mother and my father. And the men, too, weren't much better—yapping when their jobs would allow. _

_ It was my own peers that were the worst—the girls and boys my age. They teased me relentlessly, until my skin itched with humiliation and my cheeks were wet with shameful tears—and I would run away, run back home to where my father waited for me with a belt._

_ But now, I'm running in the opposite direction, running north—away from the town, from my home, away from everything and towards everything._

_ I'm nervous._

_ But even still, there's an excited note in my voice when I ask Jace, "Where are we going first?"_

_ Jace grins over at me, his face lit by the moon. "What do you think of New Orleans? You seemed fairly interested in that fair city when I mentioned it before."  
_

_Exuberance bursts inside me. "Really?"_

_ He chuckles once at my tone. "Yes. I think you'll fancy it."_

_ "I can't believe this is happening," I whisper, shivering as a gust of wind whistles between the rickety buildings of my hometown._

_ Jace's arm goes around me, heavy and comforting and warm. His lips are at my temple as he says, "It is happening. The world's at our feet."_

_ And I believe him._

* * *

**_Year: 1924 (One Week Later)_**

_New Orleans is beyond my dreams._

_ When Jace and I get off the train and travel to the heart of the city, we are greeted with a party of massive proportions. People dance around, heads thrown back, ribbons in hand, masks on their faces. Different kinds of music blare out from old trumpets on each corner. Shouts of laughter and excitement fill the air. Life pulses around us heatedly and undeniable. _

_ I've never seen so many colors—colors splashing and bursting from every direction, dizzying._

_ I can't see anyone's face, just the bright, garish masks, and I'm almost frightened. People twirl by in various states of undress, the likes of which I've never seen before. The sweet stench of alcohol fills my nose, as the feverish, disjointed music attacks my ears, and I'm falling into Jace's side, unsure of myself and my plain dress and my plain hair. Everything here is very un-plain. Very unlike anything I could have imagined._

_ "Mardi Gras," Jace yells into my ear at one point. _

_ I just nod, as if I know what it means—and I have heard of it. I just didn't know that this was what it entailed, and I am overwhelmed with newness._

_ But we finally make it to our hotel, and it is luxurious—beyond anything I have ever seen, of course._

_ The floors are so shiny they fascinate me, and the ceiling is dripping gold chandeliers, the walls are covered with thick draperies, and the furniture is dark and wooden. Women drift by in thick mink coats, jewels dangling from their ears, pearls drooping from their necks, their heels clacking and their tasseled skirts swishing rhythmically around their legs. The men are dashing in their suits, cigarettes dangling from easy moving lips. Music tinkles around us, being played on a piano in a room off the golden-lit lobby with its bustling activity._

_ My neck is craning, trying to catch every detail in the massive columns and the statues and the luxury, as Jace walks me towards the front desk and gets our room._

_ The walk up the swooping staircase is quicker than I want it to be because I've barely become accustomed to the beauty of its architecture when we are drifting down the hall, and Jace is letting me into our rich room._

_ Thick rugs, heavy furniture, golden lamps, and beauty everywhere. I'm amazed as I ease cautiously into the room, inspecting everything without touching, afraid to, for fear I dirty something._

_ My feet carry me towards the bedroom, and I still in the doorway, finding the large bed before me. The singular bed._

_ I glance back behind me as Jace sits down my lone suitcase and kicks the door behind himself. His eyes flicker up to find mine, and he smiles, arching a brow. "This okay?"_

_ "It's perfect," I murmur, shyly. My eyes slip back towards the bed, and I flush as I turn to face Jace fully. "But there is…there's only one bed."  
_

_"I'll sleep on the sofa." He jerks his chin towards the wealthily upholstered piece of furniture._

_ "Oh," I whisper, twisting my fingers together and dropping my eyes to the floor._

_ Jace's low chuckle sounds, and then he's moving towards me. "How do you feel about all of this, Clary?"_

_ "O-overwhelmed," I reply, my stutter making a reappearance with my uncertainty. _

_ Jace's fingers touch my chin, pulling my head up so our eyes meet. He's soft and gentle. "I apologize. I forgot that it was time for Mardi Gras. I wouldn't have brought you here yet, had I remembered. It can be quite overwhelming, even for me—who has seen it many times before."_

_ Many times before._

_ I frown and tilt my head a little, meeting his eyes again, bashfully. "How old are you?"  
_

_Jace's smile flickers across his face quickly. "203."_

_ I can't do the arithmetic in my head, so I ask him, embarrassedly, "When were you born?"_

_ "1721."_

_ My breath hitches. "Oh."_

_ Jace chuckles again, boyish and the very opposite of how I would think a 203-year-old would laugh. He takes a step back from me. "Does that unnerve you?"  
_

_"A lil'," I answer honestly._

_ He laughs again, hardly put off by my truth._

_ "You ain't hurt with me?" I inquire quickly, my fingers twisting again._

_ "Why would I be?"_

_ "For sayin'…sayin' it unnerves me?"_

_ "Clary, I value your honesty. It's a rare trait," Jace murmurs, sobering a bit. _

_ "Is that why you picked me?" I ask._

_ "Pardon?"_

_ "Is that why you picked me?" I repeat. "Out of all the girls in my town, you picked me to talk to—to come with you to New Orleans. Why? 'Cause I was honest and 'cause you saw that light—that, um, intelligence—in me? Is that why you chose me?"_

_ Jace's face shifts, morphs until he is quiet and thoughtful. He takes a step towards me, his hands engulfing my face, and his eyes search out mine gently. "I didn't choose you at all, Clary." Jace leans down, until his forehead is resting against mine, and his scent is around me, everywhere, lulling me and exciting me. "You chose me."_

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

"Clary?"

I sigh and get off my bed at the sound of Simon beating on my door. I'm in my pajamas, watching movies on Netflix, and the last thing I want today is a visitor.

I've successfully distracted myself from everything for the past three hours, but I know the moment I've disconnected from my laptop, all my memories will spill free again.

I open the door and Simon is there, looking a bit nervous.

"Hey," I say.

"Oh, uh, hey." His eyes flicker back to my room—almost as if he's checking for someone. "I was…I was wondering where you've been."

"I've been here," I reply, nodding with a small smile.

"Right. I just…I haven't seen you since last week—after the whole Izzy flashing incident. After that guy answered your phone."

I blink and then laugh, because I see what he's getting at. Boys never seem to get any smoother when it comes to searching out truths. "That was just some random drunk guy that grabbed my phone."

"He knew your name," Simon blurts, and it comes out sounding a little accusing, so he gives an uneasy laugh in an attempt to soften the blow.

I just roll my eyes. "That's because I was talking to him for a minute before you called. He was telling me his life story."

"Oh." Simon's hands shove down into his jean pockets. "I thought maybe…maybe it was that guy Izzy and Tess have been so obsessed with you hooking up with—that British guy. I thought he sounded a little British when he first said hello."

"Simon, are you jealous?" I ask, point-blank, because I'm not in the mood to soothe his concerns.

Simon turns dark red and stammers. "I, oh, um…well, I just didn't know who he was…and I was just making sure…that, uh—"

"That what? We weren't shacking up in my dorm room?" I inquire, arching my brows.

"No! Jesus, Clary, no. That's not what…what I thought!"

"Then what did you think?"

"I just…I…" Simon shifts his weight nervously. "I'm just…" His eyes find mine, and they are big and dark behind his glasses. Puppy dog eyes, and I suddenly feel sorry for him.

My shoulders droop a bit, and I open my mouth, to apologize for my bluntness, when he just says, all in a rush, "I am jealous."

My eyes go wide.

"I'm jealous," he repeats, and he nods, as if getting used to the idea. "Because…because I really, um—"

"Simon," I begin.

And then we're both talking at once, but we're interrupted by Tess's sudden appearance.

She throws her arm around Simon and looks at me in the doorway of my dorm, a huge grin on her face. "I made an A on my paper in Dr. Jamison's class, and I want to go celebrate! Jordan called me, and he said his band is playing at that little bar on the other side of town—the Last Chance or something. Are you two in?"

I'm already shaking my head, jumping at the chance to get away from Simon and his dangerous, almost-profession. "No, I can't. I have my own paper to write tonight, and—"

Tess gives me a look. "Clary, come on. Please? Everyone else is going."

"I really can't—"

She sighs and says, "Izzy said you'd say that."

"Well, Izzy's right, then."

"And she also told me to tell you that she invited your, as she put it, 'fucking-sexy stalker.'"

"What?" I demand, blank.

Tess laughs once and rolls her eyes. "She invited that blond British guy."

"What do you mean she invited him?" I ask quickly, my heart pounding.

Tess's laughter fades uncomfortably and she shrugs. "Um. She saw him when she was going to class, and she just walked up to him and asked him to come. He asked if you were going." She inserts a hopeful smile, because she thinks this is a good thing. Then she goes on with, "So Izzy said yes, and he said he might drop by."

"I'm not going," I say swiftly.

Simon looks a little hopeful.

Tess just looks sad. "Clary, don't you want a boyfriend? Or at the very least, some kind of romantic experience? It's…it's fun, having a boy in your life. It doesn't mean you have to marry him or anything. Just _talk_ to him."

"No, Tess. Look, you just don't…I'm not going. I'm not, so stop asking," I say shortly. My eyes flicker between her hurt face and Simon's relieved one. "You have fun, though, without me."

They take the hint to leave.

And I retreat back to my room and my eyes rove comfortably over all my movie posters.

I take a deep breath and go into my closet, pulling out my little jewelry box, opening it with the key I've hidden in one of my shoes. I should have tossed the box into the river a long time ago, but I'm nostalgic and living in the past because I have no future.

I crack open the box. It plays its sad, soft little tune, the ballerina figurine twirling for me as I look inside. My eyes immediately fall on it—the thick, heavy golden pendent.

I pull it out carefully, this time with purpose. Before now, throughout the past years, I would take the pendent out for no apparent reason. But perhaps there had been a reason. Maybe to remind myself.

To remind myself that I wasn't crazy for thinking I was in love with Jace.

Reminding myself that there was some good in him, once upon a time.

Reminding myself that I wasn't just a fool.

But I was. And I need to get rid of everything that ties me back to my time of naivety.

* * *

**_Year: 1942_**

_When I wake, I stretch languidly, smiling to myself._

_ Then I turn my head and find him as he stares up at ceiling, his hair a complete mess around his face, his chest bare and his features made of pure gold, glinting in the son morning light streaming in from the open windows and doors._

_ I hear the ocean outside, smell it in the air, and I've never been so happy._

_ "Good morning," I whisper, kissing his shoulder._

_ He looks over at me, a small smile curving his lips. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"  
_

_I don't blush as I used to. I just smile and say, "Yes. I had a very good night."  
_

_"Did you?" he asks playfully, arching his brows, his lips pursing up in that smirk I love._

_ So I lean in and kiss it. "Yes."  
_

_Then we're rolling around in the bed, and I'm laughing breathlessly as he tickles me. The white, tangled sheets dance wildly as we kick around. Everything is perfect. It's almost too perfect, too good._

_ Can life really be so brilliant?_

_ "I have something for you," he says when he's lying on top of me, pinning my arms above my head so that I can't tickle him back._

_ Giggles are bubbling up from my chest as I stare at him in wonder. "What?"_

_ He grins crookedly and rolls off of me swiftly, getting out of bed. I sit up a little and watch him as he pulls up his boxer shorts and disappears out of the room. Only a moment later, he comes back, carrying a small box in his hand carefully, as if it holds the world._

_ He climbs back into bed with me, and I sit up fully, holding the sheet to my chest. "What is that?"_

_ He glances up at me from underneath his lashes, but the look isn't flirtatious, as it usually is. It's merely shy. "A gift. For you. Here." He hands it over unceremoniously._

_ I take it from him gingerly and open the box slowly. I peer inside, find the golden pendent there and remove it. It's beautiful. Old and heavy. Carved with a flower on the front of it, a flower I've never seen before. _

_ "It's…it's lovely," I whisper, my eyes flicker over to him._

_ He's sitting with his legs crossed, picking at the sheets beneath him, his eyes downcast. "Do you like it? Do you really like it?"_

_ "I love it." My voice is sure and firm because it's true._

_ "It was my sister's."_

_ My breathing catches and realization dawns. "Your…your sister?"_

_ "Yes, the one that died," he murmurs, knowing what I'm asking. He sighs once and shifts, and then he lifts his head and his eyes find mine. He looks young, for the first time in a long time. Very young. "I thought you should have it."_

_ "But…are you sure? I know it must be very important to you."_

_ "_You're_ very important to me," he says, and he almost blurts it. The statement is without his usual elegance, although his accent does tend to make anything sound poetic. His faint blush, though, gives his discomfort away. "I…I, ehm, I don't wear jewelry. So I felt you'd be better suited to own it. It's just been sitting in a box for the past two-hundred years."_

_ I smile gently and put it on. The pendent rests coolly against my chest. "I'm honored." He's looking down again, so I reach out with my hand, touch his cheek, raise his eyes to mine. And I whisper, "Thank you."_

_ He covers my hand with his own, inhales deeply, closes his eyes, and looks at peace. "No. Thank _you_."_

* * *

**Hm. What do you think?  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry it took so long! I just had a hard time knowing when to cut this chapter off, too, and so now you have this really long chapter compared to the others which BOTHERS ME TO NO END. I try to keep all my chapters at least similar in length. URGH. Anyway, enjoy please! (: I think I'm gonna update one more time tonight because I'M ON A ROLL! It's amazing what caffeine can do for you! THE POWER OF COCA-COLA! **

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**_Year: 2013_**

"Decided to come, huh?" Izzy asks in the crowded and dark bar.

Jordan, Tess's on-and-off again boyfriend, makes a racket on the makeshift stage with his band as they try to set up behind us. People are _everywhere_, as well as the stench of beer, and this is not my scene, at all.

But I just give Izzy a small smile and say, "Yeah."

"Come for the hot blond guy?" she inquires, wiggling her eyebrows. "Are you gonna actually talk to him this time?"

I see Simon stiffen out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore him.

"Yeah, I'm gonna talk to him," I reply to her, nodding a few times, my eyes scanning the darkened room.

But I don't see him.

Maybe he won't come, because he doesn't think I'll come, either.

I usually wouldn't, under normal circumstances.

The pendent is burning a hole in my pocket as my eyes search for Jace and come up empty, only to rest back on Izzy as she says, "He's so hot, Clary. If he wasn't totally into you, I'd take him for myself."

"Go ahead," I want to tell her. But I don't. The thought of him with Izzy is surprisingly disgusting, although I have no fears it would ever happen. Jace always did value intelligence over beauty, a fact he made clear by ever speaking to me.

"Look who I found!" I hear Magnus crow behind us, and then Izzy, Simon, and myself are all turning towards his voice.

I stiffen when I see Jace, and his charmingly shy smile. He looks so innocent and sweet with his messy hair and his hands shoved down into his pockets.

Deceptive, of course.

"He was hanging around the entrance," Magnus announces, slapping Jace on the back. "If I hadn't come in and seen him, who knows how long he would have been standing there. He might never have even gotten to meet Clary."

I give Magnus a glare that he gracefully ignores.

He just clasps Jace's shoulder and jerks his chin towards me. "Jace—it is Jace, right?—this is our lovely friend Clary. She's very smart. And mean. And she loves movies. If you want to have a chance with her, just start quoting from _Gone With the Wind_ and she's yours."

"Magnus, shut up," Izzy says, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair. "You're making it so awkward." She spins to Jace, giving him a dazzling smile. "I'm Izzy. I know we've talked, but I don't think I ever got around to introducing myself. This is our friend Simon." She points. "And Tess is with her boyfriend on stage up there."

Jace smiles at her, the hint of dimples in his cheeks and the devil in his eyes. "It's a pleasure to finally meet all of you," he says, and he hams up his accent.

Izzy visibly swoons.

Simon just crosses his arms and glares at Jace. "Why are you hanging around our campus if you don't go here? You said you were looking for an old friend or something?"

"I found her." Jace's eyes never flicker to mine. He looks only at Simon, his demeanor friendly in a detached, fake sort of way that only I will be able to pick up on. "My best friend from primary school back in England. She asked me to come visit."

"Ah, she's a girl." Simon nods, as if this all makes sense.

Jace's eyebrows arch a little, that slow and manic smile crossing his lips. "Yes. Brilliant catch."

Simon bristles a bit. "She won't mind you hitting on Clary?"

"No, but I seem to sense you will," Jace replies calmly.

Simon turns the deep red of humiliation and rage.

Izzy and Magnus's eyebrows arch in unison, and Magnus covers his mouth to hide his smile.

"Whatever," Simon manages to splutter. "I'm getting a drink." With that, he stalks off into the crowd.

There's a long, tense moment of silence that might bother me if I was easily caught-up in young human interactions, but I'm not. So I just sigh and roll my eyes.

"Anyway," Izzy says loudly, widening her eyes once. "Um, what part of England are you from, Jace?"

"London," he lies. Again. His eyes flicker over to mine, a sneaky smile briefly curving his lips.

"I've always wanted go," Izzy says, and despite her earlier statement on not taking him from me, she's putting a surprising amount of effort into keeping her tone flirty.

"Well, it is lovely. But it's dreadfully rainy," he adds, conversationally.

Magnus winks at me and melds off into the crowd, leaving only the three of us remaining.

I want to get Jace alone now, to be able to talk to him—to tell him what I need to.

But Isabelle keeps talking.

"How long are you here for?" she asks.

"Ehm," he says, and his eyes move back to mine, as always, because he never could let me out of his sight for more than a minute at a time. "Maybe another week or so."

"You should stay longer. We can totally show you around." Izzy bats her lashes at him. "There's a lot of cool stuff to do around here. We wouldn't mind having you hang with us."

"That's a generous offer. Thank you," he murmurs, as polite as can be—but it's just politeness and Izzy senses it.

Her eyes go between him and myself, and she sees that she's the third wheel. I almost feel bad for her. I almost tell her that she can have him for herself, but he's not interested and it would never work anyway. I like Izzy too much to force this kind of life on her.

"Well, I guess…um, I guess I'll just go see how Jordan's band is doing." Izzy bobs her head a few times and then shuffles off, into the masses.

As soon as she's out of sight, I grab Jace's wrist and being pulling him towards the door. He staggers after me, and there's a smirk in his voice when he asks me, "Where're we going?"

"To take a breather," I say through gritted teeth.

* * *

**_Year: 1946_**

_I laugh at the boy and his stories. The slow, exaggerated way in which he talks makes them all the more funny. Anything he says is hilarious because of his drawl and his unhurried manner._

_ I meet him at the bookstore he works at. He flirts with me, and I'm flattered, because besides Jace, no man has ever showed any interest in me at all. _

_ The flirtation, however, is purely one-sided. I'm not interested in him whatsoever, but I do enjoy hearing him talk in his very Southern way, with his strange sayings and his humorous tales of family and life in general. _

_ He's cute in a very young and plain way. Brown eyes and hair. Dimples. Many girls might find him very appealing to the eyes, but that would only be because they haven't seen true beauty as I have._

_ But even still, the boy is charming enough to keep me in his grandfather's bookstore for a full hour._

_ "I guess you need to pay for this book and get outta here, huh?" he asks after he's done telling me of the time his mother forced him to play tea party with his younger sister—and his rear end got stuck in one of the baby chairs he'd been seated at. They finally had to break the chair to, as he put it, "liberate his buttocks."_

_ "I do," I reply, nodding a few times with a faint smile._

_ "You're not from 'round here, are you?" he inquires, cocking his head—making no move to ring up my book of poetry._

_ "No, we're not," I say deliberately, because as humorous as the boy is, I don't find him attractive. And I don't wish him to get the wrong idea._

_ "Oh." He nods again, this time in resignation. "We."_

_ "Yes, we." I smile, to soften the blow._

_ "You hitched?"_

_ "I am," I say._

_ "I didn't see a ring."_

_ "I don't wear one," I reply. Because Jace and I are 'married.' Just not in the eyes of the law—so there is no need for a ring. _

_ "I see." So he rings up my book, and I leave._

_ I go back to the hotel Jace and I are staying at. He wanted to sleep today because he'd driven us all night long, but I wanted to go out and explore the tiny Georgia town we'd stopped in to refuel and rest._

_ When I go into our room, I find him sitting on the floor, sketching furiously._

_ "Good afternoon, sleepy," I say with a smile, kicking the door shut lightly with my high-heel behind me. "Do you feel rested?"_

_ The in which he doesn't answer me seems an answer all in itself, but I pay him no mind. He gets like this sometimes—in a dark, quiet mood. I think nothing of it as I drift past him, pulling my dainty white gloves from my hands. "I'm so excited to see California. It doesn't feel as though we'll ever get there, does it?"_

_ I gasp when my back is being slammed against the wall with enough force to take my breath. Jace is there, glaring down at me, towering over me frighteningly, and a thousand images of my father beating me flash through my mind._

_ I cringe back from him. "J-Jace, what are you—?"_

_ "I saw you, Clary," he mutters, his body shaking as he grips my upper arms, holding me against the wall, pressing me into it roughly. "I saw you talking to that boy."_

_ "What…what boy?" I demand, my frantic mind scattered._

_ "Don't act as though you don't know!" he yells and I flinch. "That bastard in the bookstore! I saw him! I saw him flirting with you! I saw you flirting back!"_

_ "Jace! I did no such thing," I gasp, horrified of the thought and of his dark eyes and of his anger._

_ "Dammit, Clary, don't you lie to me!"_

_ "I'm not lying!" I blubber, and my eyes are watery with tears all of a sudden. His contorted, enraged face blurs, and my heartbeat grows loud within me. "I wasn't flirting with him, Jace."  
_

_"Yes, you were," he grinds out, and I feel the wall beside my head shudder as he slams his fist against it. I bite my lip to keep from crying out in terror, fearful it will only anger him more. I just close my eyes tightly, feel a few tears slip down my cheeks as he growls, lowly and disturbingly, "I should kill him."_

_ "Jace, you wouldn't," I whisper in horror._

_ "I should," he says, and I peek at him to find him nodding manically, his eyes taking on a distant, hazy quality as he begins nodding, jerkily and incessantly. "I should. I should snap his neck like a twig. Or I could beat him to death. Or—"_

_ "Jace, stop it," I say. "Stop it, you're scaring me."  
_

_"I don't want you talking to men," he says suddenly, his eyes blinking back into focus on me. "I don't want you talking to any man, do you hear me?"_

_ "Jace, that's—"_

_ "Do you hear me?" he demands, but his voice is frighteningly quiet and his eyes are deeply intent, boring into mine, trapping me and stealing away any sense of rebellion._

_ So I nod, helpless._

_ Jace's face is very close to mine, his hand flying up to grip my chin roughly. He puts his lips against my own, and his eyes become my world as he rumbles his words into me. "You are mine. Do you understand that?"  
_

_"Yes," I say, shaking._

_ "You are mine and only mine. No man has ever touched you but me, and I want it to stay that way, Clary."_

_ "It will always be that way, Jace. I don't know why you think I—" I begin rapidly, my fear making my words come out all rushed and jumbled together._

_ "Shut up!" he bellows suddenly, making me shut my eyes and cringe back again. But his hold on my chin won't allow me to. And then his lips are back against mine, his voice quiet again. "You can't ever leave me."_

_ "I'm not—"_

_ "I said, _shut up_," he snaps._

_ I jerk with his words, and more tears spill from my clenched shut eyelids._

_ "If I see you ever talking to another man like that again, I'll kill him. And it'll be your fault, Clary. When you're holding his dead body, you'll know it was because you broke the rule. It was because you couldn't keep your harlot ways at bay. Do you understand?"_

_ "Jace," I manage to murmur through trembling lips. I open my eyes again, hoping to find the boy I love somewhere in that stone face filled with hatred and red fury, but he's no where to be found. It's like I'm looking at a stranger. A monster, almost, with his flared nostrils and his dilated pupils and his flushed cheeks. "Why are you acting like this?" I whisper._

_ Then he blinks, and that boy is back._

_ Jace lets go of my chin, arches his brows, and his voice is normal and sweet as he says, "I'm not trying scare you." He takes a step back from me, his brows pulling together a bit in confusion, and then he tilts his head and adds, lovely and gently, "I just love you, Clary. That's all."  
_

_I can't breathe. I'm still pinned to the wall with panic._

_ Then Jace smiles, a beautiful smile with no traces of that monster I just saw. "Are you hungry? I'd like to take you out tonight. Somewhere nice. Would you fancy that?"_

_ I can't speak. _

_ Jace doesn't seem to notice. He's pursing his lips and eyeing the sunset through one of the room's windows. "We have an hour or so before dinner time, though, don't we? Would you like to take a bath?"_

_ I can't move._

_ Jace's eyes find mine again, and he holds out his hand to me, his brows going up in question. "Care to take a bath with me?"  
My hand goes out to his, on reflex, and his fingers intertwine with mine as a grand smile stretches his face. "Brilliant. Come on then."_

_ So I follow him mechanically into the bathroom, all the while wondering what had just occurred and praying it never happened again._

_ But it did happen again._

_ Many, many times._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

I'm pulling Jace quickly towards the bridge, away from the crowded bar.

The air is cold tonight, and my breath hangs in silver clouds around my face as I power-walk, practically dragging Jace behind because he's wanting to be difficult.

"Why are we leaving? I was so looking forward to Jason's band," he tells me.

"Jordan," I growl.

"Doesn't matter," he chuckles merrily.

I jerk to a halt because we are now in the center of the old bridge. The area around us is abandoned but well lit by the old timey lamps and the city in the distance. I turn to face Jace with a glare, my hand jamming into my coat pocket and finding the pendent.

I grab his hand and shove the piece of jewelry into his palm. "Take this. Take it and leave me the hell alone and leave my friends the hell alone."

Jace frowns a bit and looks down at it, and when he sees what it is, his eyebrows arch curiously and his eyes flicker back up to meet mine. "The pendent I gave you."

"Yes, the pendent. I want you to have it back."

"But it's yours," he replies earnestly.

"No, it's not. It's yours. It's a symbol of you. And it's a symbol of your freakish hold on me and your insane possessiveness and your ridiculous lies and declarations of love—and I don't want it anymore!" I rush out, throwing my hands up in the air.

Jace simply shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down in thought. "Well, I certainly wasn't thinking along those lines when I gave it to you."

"I'm sure you were only thinking of your precious love," I say, sickened. "Just take it."

"No, Clary," he murmurs, his eyebrows going up, pulling together in that deceptively sweet, hurt way of his. He grabs my wrist gently and sets the pendent back into my palm, curling my fingers around it with his. His eyes are on mine. "It's not mine anymore."

"Then I'm throwing it in the river," I say, jerking my chin towards the churning waters below us.

Jace takes a step back from me, dropping his hand from mine, and he shrugs again. "Do it, then, if you must."

I press my lips together tightly. "This is your sister's."

"It's just a piece of jewelry, Clary," he says, in a slow and kindly patronizing way, a statement meant to jab at my over-examination of its symbolism and I want to scream at him.

I close my eyes instead and take a deep breath through my nose, trying to compose myself.

And then I hear his laughter.

My eyes snap open again and I look at him in horrified anger as he laughs even harder. "What?" I demand, despite myself.

He just shakes his head, continues to laugh—a deeply condescending laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" I yell.

"It's just…it's just that, throughout all these years, despite all of your talk, you've kept that little piece of jewelry," he chuckles, shaking his head yet again. "I would have thought, if you hated me as much as you claim, that would have been the first thing on your agenda—to toss that necklace into a river. Yet here it is, unharmed."

I shake a bit, my mouth opening and closing a few times before I gather my wits enough to snap, "You would see that side of it." And then my arm jerks to the side and I'm dangling the pendent over the side of the bridge, above the dark waters. I arch my brows in a silent dare.

Jace just shrugs, smiles. "Like I said before, it's just a piece of jewelry."

And now I can't quite make myself let go of it. I've always been a sentimental fool. Memories become everything, the only way you can keep from going insane while they also add to your insanity. It's a vicious cycle.

I've worked myself into quite the predicament.

If I drop the pendent, it will be gone forever, and I feel…regretful about it. If I don't drop it, though, Jace will take it as some kind of sign, for my undying devotion towards him.

After a minute of hesitancy, Jace doesn't give the smirk I expect but rather a gentle smile. He steps forward, until he's almost touching me, until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

His hand finds mine, warm and large, and brings it back over from the edge of the bridge, into my pocket. He makes me release the pendent there, safely.

His head leans forward, down to mine, and our noses touch.

I've stopped breathing, moving in any way. I'm not even blinking. I'm like stone.

Jace's breath is warm against my cold lips as he tilts his head and our mouths align.

"Clary," he whispers, so softly that I almost fool myself into thinking he's sincere. Then he's shifting forward and our lips touch gently. Once. Twice.

And the third time, when I feel his tongue ease past my lips carefully, I'm snapped back into myself, and in horror, I shove him away from me.

All pretenses of care are gone, and Jace is grinning delightedly. Knowingly. He backs up with a smug spring in his step, his eyes dancing.

"Stay away from me-and my friends," I order as firmly as I can. I dig around in my pocket, find the pendent, and I fling it at him as hard as I can. It bounces of his chest, and he laughs and then I'm running away from him. Running away from my shame.

* * *

**Did y'all like a little taste of his insanity earlier? He gets pretty out there sometimes. You'll see. DUN DUN DUNNNNNN. Review please! I live for reviews! Well, that's a little melodramatic, I guess, not to say that I DON'T like reviews, because I love them, I mean, y'all are so awesome, how could I not love them, but I don't LIVE for them because that would be sad and weird and I'm not that obsessed with fanfiction even though I am pretty obsessed and have a lot of sleep I need to catch up on yet here I am, drinking a lot of soda and running on and on. **

**ANYWAY. Review please (:**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Sorry I never updated again. I had a caffeine crash upon which I passed out. But here is one of two or maybe three updates, depending on my mood! (: Enjoy! **

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**_Year: 2013_**

When I roll over the next morning, I hear the crinkle of paper, and I blink my eyes open against the clear winter light spilling into my room. Squinting, I grab the crumpled up little Post-It, and my breathing hitches as I recognize the sloppy scrawl.

_You aren't getting rid of this that easy._

_ Love always and forever, _

_Jace_

And next to the paper, I see the pendent, winking up at me, as if in amusement at my despair.

* * *

**_Year: 1924_**

_He doesn't kiss me anymore._

_ He hasn't kissed me since we've been in Missouri._

_ Two weeks in New Orleans, two weeks spent seeing the sights and enjoying the city without the chaos of Mardi Gras, and he hasn't done more than touched my cheek._

_ I don't mind so much, of course. I wouldn't want him kissing me when we were in the hotel room, alone, anyway. I'd be much too frightened._

_ And yet…after a while, I don't think I'd mind so much anymore._

_ He sleeps on the sofa every evening, without one word about it._

_ "Do you like your clothes?" he asks, from that very spot now as we get settled in for the night, after shopping all day long._

_ "Yes, very much," I reply politely, twisting my fingers together as I walk closer to the sofa. "You didn't have to buy them for me."_

_ "You said you felt uncomfortable in your old clothes," he says. "Of course I had to buy you new ones. Even if I don't understand it fully."  
_

_I cock my head in curiosity, so he goes on._

_ "Fashions fade in and out," Jace murmurs, leaning back on the sofa. His head touches the back cushions of the couch, and his eyes are sleepy as he gazes over at me. "They don't matter so much. They're just society's rules. Pointless, really. Fashion isn't beauty—it's just a phase."_

_ "Is that why you don't put pomade in your hair or get it cut?" I inquire, arching my eyebrows at him. I'm still walking closer to the couch._

_ "It's exactly why. Why should I cut my hair and grease it down like every other man and boy? God didn't make your hair greased down, so why should you? God didn't make us with clothes at first, either, but I figure that might be taking my stand on things a bit too far." He smirks boyishly. "If I were to walk around stark naked, that is."_

_ I duck my head to hide my blush and laugh once. "Oh," is all I can say._

_ Then it's quiet for a minute, and I'm hesitant to look back up at him. But I can sense his eyes on me, and I know that the longer I go without speaking, the more odd the silence between us will become. _

_ I force myself to lift my head and meet his searching eyes, but as soon as our gazes lock, I can't speak so the silence only intensifies. _

_ Jace watches me for a moment, his sprawled out body relaxed unlike mine. He tilts his head to the side, regarding me as a sly smile curves his mouth. _

_"What?" he finally asks._

_ "Nothing," I rush out before I can stop myself._

_ "Tell me," he urges, his smile widening a bit._

_ And I see his lips, his perfect lips that aren't too full or too thin, that seem to tilt up into a perpetual smirk, and I'm suddenly blurting out, "Why don't you kiss me…anymore?"  
_

_Jace's eyebrows arch, and he sits up a little, just as the heat of embarrassment roars across my cheeks. "I thought I should stop doing that. I didn't want to frighten you with everything—a new place, a new life. I didn't want to overwhelm you."_

_ I swallow against the lump of humiliation in my throat, and I bob my head, looking down at my frantically twisting fingers. "Oh," I say._

_ There's a beat of silence._

_ "Unless you _want_ to be overwhelmed," Jace murmurs slowly, and I don't have to look up to see the smile in his voice._

_ I can't breathe. There's something sitting on my chest, keeping me from getting air into my aching lungs. So, of course, I can't speak either. I just raise my eyes timidly, but curiously, to meet his, and they are burning gold, like the evening sun streaking through the windows of our hotel room._

_ "Come here," he says so I do._

_ I stand in front of him shyly, and he grabs my waist gently, pulls me onto his lap so that I sit with my knees of either side of his legs. I gasp and bite my lip hesitantly, unsure of what to do with my hands so I leave them hanging limply by my sides._

_ Jace smiles up at me, a half smile, and touches my cheeks tenderly before pulling my face down to his. His lips brush against mine, once, twice, and I'm already breathless. My body is stiff with nerves and newness and the first sparks of desire._

_ His hands slide down my neck gently, raising goosebumps in their wake, before they slip around and tangle carefully into my hair. He tilts my head back a little, and then his lips are skimming over my chin, down my throat, deliberately slow and measured, and my hands suddenly find a place of their own, in his hair. _

_ I feel warm, all over. Warm and fluttery, and I've never felt quite like this before, as though I'm trembling from the inside out._

_ Jace's lips are so hot against my neck and my pounding pulse that I'm gasping and squeezing my eyes shut, trying to memorize the feeling of this and knowing that the memory will always come up short in face of the reality._

_ "Jace," his name almost drips from my lips, on my last breath of oxygen in my lungs._

_ And then my back is on the soft sofa cushions, and Jace is above me, staring down at me with his hair made even messier by my greedy fingers. His eyes are bright, like stars, and he's smiling slightly, his lips pressed together cutely as he gazes over my face, down my neck._

_ "You're so innocent," he whispers quietly, and I feel his fingers dancing along my throat, moving lower, to the dipping collar of my dress. "So young and pure. I'm almost afraid to touch you."_

_ I arch my eyebrows at him in question, my mind hazy and sluggish._

_ "I don't want to corrupt you," he murmurs._

_ "No?" I whisper._

_ "Well, perhaps a little," he replies, offering a quick and devious smile before leaning down and kissing me again. This time it's different. His lips press against mine, but he doesn't retreat a moment later. He stays, and his mouth moves against mine, slowly at first, until I get the general understanding of it, and then the movements are deep and long yet almost feverish._

_ I'm gasping against him softly, my hands going up and once again finding purchase in his silken, warm hair. I like how the fine strands slip through my fingertips like grains of sand, uncatchable._

_ He parts my lips with his own, and then I feel his tongue in my mouth, sudden but gentle nonetheless. The taste of him is otherworldly, sweet and heady, and I'm lost in him and his touches and his lips and his tongue and his teeth._

_ His fingers are dipping lower at my neckline, feathering gently between my breasts, and my nerves are suddenly back because this is all very new to me and I'm reminded by my shaking body._

_ Jace feels the tenseness of my mouth and pulls away, just slightly, so that he can look at me. "Are you frightened?" he asks._

_ "Yes," I say, breathless._

_ "Of what?"  
_

_"The unknown."_

_ He seems to ponder this for a moment before his head is dropping back to mine, his nose skimming over my cheek before his lips are hot and wet at my ear. "Then let me show you the unknown," he murmurs. "So that it is not unknown any longer."_

_ There is no answer but yes._

* * *

**_Year: 2013_**

"So did you and the British boy…?" Magnus trails off to make an inappropriate gyrating motion.

I roll my eyes, irritated by my friends' stupidity and ridiculous obsession with sex. As if that's all that matters in the world. As if that's what makes you whole. It doesn't. It's just a motion, and it remains a motion until you find someone you care about on an emotional level—not a physical one.

It's a notion my friends have not yet seemed to grasp, and it reminds how very young they are, in the grand scheme of things.

"No," I say.

"Why not?" Magnus scoffs, inspecting his nails. He has them painted today—a glittery deep purple, of course. "That boy was giving you bedroom eyes the moment he saw you."

"Yeah, Clary, why not? Are you saving yourself for marriage or something?" Izzy snorts from her lounging spot on the grass.

I open my mouth to respond but Alec cuts in, giving his sister a glare, "What's wrong with that?"

"I never said anything was wrong with it, Alec."

"You implied it with your tone."

"Don't get your panties in such a twist over everything," she replies, bitchy. She's usually more hospitable when the weather's warm and reminds her of her home in Georgia, but today, not even the unseasonable heat can help her mood.

"I don't know why you're so obsessed with getting Clary laid by that guy, anyway," Simon says, petulant, as he sits on one of the coveted stone benches we snagged. He's got a huge textbook open on his lap, but he hasn't glanced down at a word of it the whole hour we've been studying. He seems intent on glaring into the distance. "He seemed like a tool."

"He only seemed like that because _you_ like C—" Izzy begins ruthlessly.

But I cut in before she can embarrass him. "Isabelle, I'm not interested in the blond guy, okay?"

"Why not? He's so—"

"Fucking hot, I know," I grumble, rolling my eyes. I get to my feet suddenly, unable to stand being around this immaturity any longer. I'm fed up today. "I get that. He _is_ good-looking, but it doesn't matter. Beauty is such an outdated concept."

"What does that even mean? Did you switch to a psychology major while I wasn't looking?" she asks, opening her eyes against the sun to peer up at me.

"It means that beauty isn't everything. In fact, it's very little. Maybe even nothing. But yet, despite how many times that can be proven to someone, no one ever seems to want to grasp the idea of it. As a society, we hold on to the notion that if someone is gorgeous, we should give him a chance over someone less attractive. It's ridiculous, though, because someone's face is just someone's face. Our bodies are shells—a poor representation of who we are inside. We're like cases for our phone—purely cosmetic."

"Hm," Alec and Magnus say at once, thinking it over.

Simon looks renewed by my rant.

And Izzy just looks peeved. "Don't get all high and mighty on me, Clary. Are you calling me shallow?"

"Yes, I am. In fact, our whole world _is_ shallow. Everyone in it is shallow, and it disgusts me. Everything just disgusts me today!" I announce and then I'm stalking away, my messenger bag bumping angrily against my hip as I march.

* * *

**Do y'all agree with Clary? Do you think beauty really does mean nothing?**


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